Red Threads
by Thrae Elddim
Summary: Determined to find the perfect matches for two young women, the god of love is amazed to find that the Fates and Hades had interfered with them already: their red threads of fate lead over a hundred years into the past, to a wireless operator and an officer. With the help of the time god they're launched into the past, but can they survive the disaster of the century?
1. Prologue

I've been in the process of writing this since June, although my Harry Potter mania kind of swept it to the side for a while... But I'm back with another officer fic!

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership over the Titanic itself, or any of the adaptations made of the story. As far as actual historical figures are concerned, please think of the James Cameron movie characters. I mean no offense to any relatives of them, as I've been a huge fan for years. This writing is done for enjoyment only, and I am not getting paid for it other than in satisfaction at a job well done.

* * *

**Prologue**

_"Everything happens to everybody sooner or later if there is time enough."_

_-George Bernard Shaw_

Eros gazed upon the world with amusement in his eyes, watching the citizens go about their lives. Being the god of love wasn't an easy job; it was actually a big hassle. Every time he would take a vacation however, someone would capture his interest and he would unknowingly be right back on the job.

Such was the case right then: twenty four year old Acacia Lilith Wood, and her twenty one year old cousin Victoria King. They were two of the least lucky in love that he had ever had the misfortune to stumble upon.

As he contemplated potential matches, Eros analyzed them and their pasts. They were both very strong and driven people, he admitted, looking at what they had lived through and accomplished. Everything from abusive parents to school shootings had gone on in their lives, yet the events had only made them stronger. They were worthy of men who would cherish and respect them, the god of love decided.

What had really caught his eye about them was that he could plainly see Hades' work in Acacia; the death god saw fit to gift her with extraordinary powers. Why that was, Eros wasn't sure he wanted to know. Hades had always been so serious about his job that it was mind-boggling: why would he give a mere mortal access to some of his powers and the ability to muck up everything he had ever worked on?

Ultimately, Eros decided that it didn't matter. This would definitely make it even more of a challenge, but he was rearing up and ready to go. He ate challenges like this for breakfast.

Just as he was about to set out in earnest to search for Acacia's soul mate, he saw something red. A second look showed Eros that she had a red thread tied around her ankle. A look at Victoria displayed that she too had a red thread of fate.

The love god pouted. It was no fun when the Fates intervened, especially on an especially hard case. But if they dictated it, then he had to obey.

Idly, Eros followed Accacia's thread to wherever and whoever the other end was attached to. Looking at the man he saw, he grinned mischievously; Acacia would definitely appreciate this man. He was handsome and charming, with sparkling brown eyes and beautiful full lips. The uniform he wore only complimented that, a navy suit and white shirt with a funny sort of flat-brimmed hat. It looked familiar for some reason, but Eros put it out of his mind.

A look around at the man's surroundings mystified the love god. He was at a busy pier, which was bustling and lively with all sorts of officials and passers-by. That wasn't good; Acacia was currently on a ship and lived inland anyway. Everything was strangely styled as well compared to her time period, with lots of smoke and smog in the air and clunky automobiles roving the streets.

Determined now to make this work despite everything, Eros decided to find out where this was. A news boy caught his eye and he looked in closer at the headline he was hawking. "Titanic Set To Sail, Notable Names Aboard", it read.

Eros' thoughts stopped right as they were. He stared at the paper in a haze of confusion, incapable of processing. He had to be mistaken about what this meant. A look at the date proved that he was right in the beginning: April 10, 1912.

For a minute, he was struck dumb. How was this even possible? How could the red thread of fate lead across a hundred years? There had to be a mistake somewhere.

Quickly, Eros found the man again and followed the thread back closely. Again, it lead right back to Acacia as she laid asleep in her cabin aboard the Titanic II. There was a hundred year and five day gap between the two times, meaning that the young man would be dead even of old age long before she was even born!

With a shake of his head, Eros put the problem out of his mind for the moment. He then focused on Victoria, who slept on the other bed in the cabin. Her thread was clearly visible and stretched in the same direction as Acacia's did, creating a whirl of dread in Eros' belly.

He followed the thread.

The other end was wrapped around the ankle of another young man in the exact same place, exact same time, even an eerily similar uniform. His eyes were dark grey instead of brown however, and he had an air of childish wonder about him as he stared at a behemoth liner.

At that, Eros was completely stumped. What was happening here? Clearly a talk with the Fates was in order, no matter how creepy they were.

* * *

Several hours of earth time later, Eros sighed with relief. The Fates hadn't been nearly as cross as last time he had encountered them, a real relief.

Hades had nearly made up for that however, with his foul temper at the very idea of what was being asked.

Chronos had also been displeased, but he bent graciously under the pressure the Fates exerted upon him. With mortal lives, their word was law and everyone knew it. Anyone who was worth anything, anyways.

A large smile brightened Eros' features as he gazed fondly upon Acacia and Victoria. They would get their men, all right. It was just a matter of keeping Hades and Chronos cooperating.

"Ah, the things I do for love," Eros sighed wistfully.

* * *

What are your thoughts on the prologue? I hope to have the first chapter out soon, so please stay tuned.

Remember: reviews are love!

-Thrae


	2. In Which There Is a Great Deal of Panic

Disclaimer: I own nothing under copyright. See chapter one for the full disclaimer.

* * *

**In Which There is a Great Deal of Panic and Confusion**

_"Fate is like a strange, unpopular restaurant filled with odd little waiters who bring you things you never asked for and don't always like."_

_-Lemony Snicket_

Acacia Lilith Wood had always thought of her life as a sensible, yet ironic, tragedy with a sprig of comedy added for flavor. As she stared into the wardrobe room of her and Vic's cabin however, she had a thought to change her mind about that.

The critical factor was that this could not possibly be happening. She had gone to sleep on April 14, 2012 aboard the Titanic II, which was on its maiden voyage to New York. She had been in her own nice little cabin with all the clothing she brought hung in the wardrobe room and everything in perfect order. Now, her clothing was gone and in its' place were dresses that probably cost more than she could ever reasonably afford.

There were other things that were off as well. The color of her duvet was different and the crown moldings were more ornate than she remembered. Whatever happened last night and whose room she had crawled into to sleep, Acacia hoped that they wouldn't try to arrest her.

Closing the door again, Acacia leaned on it and took a deep breath. Once her thoughts were less panicked, she walked slowly over to the bed she had slept in and took a seat. 'Alright,' she figured to herself, 'Something has gone wrong while I was asleep. I know I was in my own room last night, since these are my pajamas.'

To make sure, she took a glance at the left breast of the Rob Zombie concert shirt she wore. It had the exact bleach stain Acacia expected to see.

'So what happened while I was asleep?' she thought, struggling to remember. Anything would help at the moment; a strange voice, feeling someone touch her... She came up completely blank.

'Then again, who am I kidding?' Acacia snorted, 'I got up and made invisible toast naked and didn't know it. How would I remember a kidnapping while I was asleep?'

There was only one thing to do now: wake Victoria up. And pray that she didn't get kicked in the solar plexus again. At the mere memory, Acacia winced. For being so thin, Victoria was no weakling.

Cautiously, Acacia got up and took the few steps over to Victoria's bed. In her sleep the younger woman looked almost angelic, fiery curls obscuring part of her face and a relaxed expression.

It made Acacia feel even more apprehensive about waking her.

"Vic," she called, reaching over to shake the red head's shoulder, "Wake up."

The other woman grumbled and burrowed her head further into the pillow. She wasn't going to be cooperative this morning, obviously.

"Oi, Vic! It's an emergency!" Acacia hissed, injecting some urgency into her voice, "Get up! Now!" She roughly batted at her cousin's shoulder, accidentally pushing her onto her back.

That did the trick. Immediately Victoria's eyes sprang open and she fixed the older woman with a glare. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she demanded, scowling heavily, "It's too damn early in the morning to be up!"

"Something's wrong," Acacia pleaded, fidgeting uncomfortably, "I don't know what's going on but I swear to god, this isn't just my imagination! You need to get up and see this!" She tapped her toes on the carpeted floor anxiously, waiting for a reply.

Victoria opened her mouth to retort. Sound never made it past her lips however.

Instead, they were both silenced when an arrow came out of the ceiling. That's right, a glowing golden arrow with a note stabbed on it took a nose dive out of the ceiling and stabbed into the bed between them.

For a minute, both women just stared at the arrow. What exactly had just happened...?

The arrow disintegrated into a small pile of glowing golden powder, leaving only the note intact. That was when chaos erupted in the cabin.

"What the hell!" exclaimed Victoria, turning her head this way and that as to get a view of the entire room, "Is there a hole in the ceiling or something? What kind of creep did this!" She climbed out of bed and almost ran to look properly at the ceiling where the arrow came from.

Meanwhile, Acacia took the note with shaking hands. It was written on a very rough, almost yellow paper with obvious fibers running vertically and horizontally. Not something you find in the stationary aisle at Walmart.

"No hole," Victoria reported, still craning her neck to look at the ceiling.

With a glance at her cousin, Acacia nodded. She didn't really expect there to be, but then again she never even expected the arrow. Who would? Instead of wondering at the suddenness of it all, she unfolded the note.

It was in another language. The writing seemed familiar for some reason, but Acacia couldn't process where she had seen the foreign characters before. "Can you read this?" she asked, offering the note.

With a raised eyebrow, Victoria took it. One glance and she sighed, folding the note again. "It's in Greek," she answered, pursing her lips, "I don't know Greek."

"Well shit," was Acacia's oh so intelligent reply.

As soon as she said those words however, another arrow came out of the ceiling. This time it struck the floor, where it again turned to powder under a folded note.

"What the hell is up with all the fucking arrows!" demanded Victoria, again searching the ceiling. Her hands were on her hips as she scanned the plaster.

As before, Acacia picked up the paper. It was the same type used before, but this time when she unfolded it she could read the writing. "It's in English this time," she stated drolly, biting down a chuckle.

"That was quick," Victoria commented, walking over to read the note as well. She perched her chin on her cousin's shoulder and they both read:

_Acacia and Victoria,_  
_There's no need to worry, at least not for now. You still have three and a half days, use them wisely! Since you're wondering, you're a hundred years in the past. Three guesses where you are, and the first two don't count. Bingo, you're on the Titanic! It's currently April 11, 1912 and you've already departed from Queenstown. Can't have you sneaking away from the very reason you're here, now can I?_  
_Everything in the stateroom and sitting room is free for your uses. The dresses should fit you, and there's already a back story made for you. You'll probably want to read up on yourselves when you finish with this. The documents are on the coffee table._  
_Love always,_  
_Eros_  
_PS: Sorry about the other note. I sometimes forget that not everybody speaks Greek._

For a moment, Victoria and Acacia looked at the note completely gobsmacked. This flew in the face of everything they had ever been taught or ever knew, especially Christianity and science.

"So uh, I guess we should start reading?" asked Victoria weakly. She separated from her cousin and walked slowly to the door separating the stateroom from the sitting room. Easily, she opened the door and left.

Acacia read through the note again and then looked at the ceiling. Just as Victoria had said, the ceiling was in perfect shape, and the dust from the glowing arrows still resided on the floor and bed linens. "This is really happening, isn't it?" she wondered out loud.

As if in answer, the note crumbled to more glowing dust in her hands. Acacia shook it off and wiped her hands on her pajama shirt.

As she made her way into the elegant sitting room, Acacia's entire body felt numb. It was like her physical self was moving without direction, while her mind absorbed even the smallest details.

The wood of the furniture was a little lighter than in the recreation, she noticed, and the pattern of the marble on the fireplace was different. The smell was basically the same though: fresh paint and new textiles.

"Take a look at these," Victoria told her, shoving several news clippings into her hands, "You've apparently made a huge splash here."

Heavily, Acacia sat down in a chair to take in the articles. As she scanned them, she felt a smile take root on her face. They were editorial reviews from books she had apparently written and had great success with. There were six in all, four romances and two about the mythology of various cultures.

"Damn I'm good," Acacia laughed, overcome with disbelief at the same time as she was trying to process this even happening.

"Who's this Eros person anyway?" Victoria asked, putting down a book she had been leafing through, "Sounds kinda weird."

With a snort, Acacia exchanged the news clippings for what appeared to be personal letters. "Eros is the ancient Greek god of love," she explained, scanning the papers, "You're probably more familiar with the name Cupid."

At that, Victoria gave a sound of understanding. "So since Cupid sent us here, that means..." she trailed off.

"There's somebody here he wants us to meet," Acacia confirmed, setting down the correspondences, "But why he would bother bringing us a century into the past, I have no clue."

"Maybe there wasn't a right person then," suggested Victoria, shrugging. A gleam came to her pale green eyes as she smirked, "Hey, now you can finally meet your cruuuuuush..." She drew out the word 'crush' mockingly, grinning when it go a decorative pillow thrown at her.

Acacia's cheeks were dark pink as she muttered, "It's not a crush."

"Sure it's not," Victoria replied patronizingly, "Whatever floats your boat."

"Anyway," Acacia switched the subject obviously, "What do we know about ourselves now?"

Despite the transparency of the change, Victoria went along with it. "Same things really," she shrugged, "Same names, ages, hometowns, address... Only thing that's really changed is a few of your books and the technology."

"Yeah, we've got to be careful about that," agreed Acacia, twisting her lips to the side with frustration, "And don't forget our manners and all that..." She took a deep, long suffering sigh. "Vic, my dear, it's time for me to teach you Edwardian Culture 101."

The look on Victoria's face was answer enough.

* * *

It took three hours to explain everything that they would most likely encounter: rigid social customs, the comparatively extreme formality and modesty of the times, the fashion and the extensive list of things to not do while they were in the past. Hopefully, that wouldn't be very long.

It was nearly noon by the time they felt prepared enough to go back into the stateroom and begin dressing. The situation wasn't awkward at least, having been stuck sharing tighter quarters for longer times before.

"What do you think of this one?" asked Victoria, holding up a dress against her body. It was nice looking if you liked pink, a silk creation with a shimmery sheen to the very pale top layer and a white lace split skirt.

"You'll look like a princess," Acacia assured her, delight creeping into her voice. Secretly, she had always enjoyed the few chances she had to dress up her cousin. Victoria had a china doll appearance that extended into the realm of unearthly glamour whenever she was put into a formal gown.

Glowing with pleasure, Victoria immediately undressed and began to get into the dress.

Turning back to her own side of the wardrobe room, Acacia frowned in thought. "Which one, the peach or the lavender?" she wondered out loud. The less formal dresses on her side were all lightly shaded and had the basic same design, so the only thing that really mattered was the color.

"Lavender," Victoria answered surely.

Taking her cousin's advice, Acacia put the hanger on a separate hook and began undressing. She put on a flesh tone strapless bra that she had managed to find, clasping it it front and then turning it around before slipping into fresh underwear.

"Uh, Cacia?" asked Victoria unsurely.

"Yes?" replied Acacia, reaching for the dress on the hook.

"My dress won't close," Victoria said, with obvious strain in her voice.

Upon turning around, Acacia saw that her cousin was absolutely right. When she took a hand to the hooks, she was unable to help either. "Wait a second..." Acacia muttered, realizing something horrifying. Immediately she began to rummage through the drawers on Victoria's side, mumbling to herself as she searched. Finally she found what she was looking for and couldn't help wincing.

"What's that?" Victoria asked curiously once Acacia straightened up with the item. It was white silk with panels in front and cups on one end, designed narrower in the middle. On one side were hooks and laces, while the other had two sets of loops.

"This, is a corset," Acacia informed her with a measure of pity, "And unfortunately, if you want to fit into any of your dresses it seems like you'll have to tight lace it."

The look on Victoria's face changed faster than the weather in West Virginia. One moment she was mildly curious and having the time of her life, the next she was backing away with wide eyes and shaking her head. "Oh hell no!" she swore, taking a gulp, "You can't expect me to get into that thing!"

Acacia shrugged with one shoulder. "Your choice," she said apathetically, "Run around with your dress undone and scandalize the whole ship, or deal with the corset and have a chance at finding this guy you're apparently here for."

It was the mention of the mystery man that ultimately decided. "Fine," Victoria ground out, crossing her arms, "Let's do this."

As if her cousin were a wild beast backed into a corner, Acacia approached with caution. "I promise that I'll keep it as loose as I possibly can," she told Victoria with a sympathetic tone, "Now face away from me and hold out your arms. You remember how my corset thing was for prom?" She didn't actually go and the dress and corset still sat in the back of her closet, but that wasn't the point.

With a nod, Victoria turned to face the door frame. She extended her arms out to hold onto it, probably imitating the girls in the movies.

"It'll be kinda like that but tighter," Acacia said, reaching around the other woman's body to bring the corset to the right place, "Now adjust yourself so that the cups are in the right spot."

Victoria shifted the corset slightly back and up. "This had better be worth it," she muttered threateningly.

Smiling grimly, Acacia nodded. "I couldn't agree more," she replied, quickly lacing the corset like a pair of running shoes, "Now take a deep breath." When Victoria did, she tightened the laces as much as she could.

The red head let out a grunt. Her hands and shoulders had tensed up, and she struggled to relax them again.

"Again," Acacia instructed. She readjusted the laces as fast as possible, trying to save pain and time.

The cycle continued for nearly ten minutes. It finally ended when they were able to hook the back of the dress together, tightly but still serviceable. By that time though, Acacia's fingers were starting to cramp up and he could only imagine how Victoria's ribs must feel.

"How did women put up with this?" Victoria asked weakly, slumped against the door frame. Right after saying that she took a shallow gasp for air, and another until her breathing was again somewhat even.

Acacia checked her own drawers for a corset and said a silent prayer of thanks when she found none. "They practically grew up in these," she answered with more than a little disapproval, "They got their first corset when they were around nine or ten and as they grew, it was controlled by the corset. Some girls even slept in them."

Victoria made a face at the thought. "Not doing that," she ground out, shaking her head furiously. She took a gasp, then leaned her forehead against the door frame.

'She's probably a little dizzy,' figured Acacia, taking the lavender dress off the hanger. Looking at her cousin she felt a little bad, but still slipped into the gown without any torture.

The choice was wonderful, she mentally applauded Victoria when it was on. The satin felt nice and cool against her skin, while the gauzy over layer of the skirt gave the appearance of it floating. Patterns of lotus flowers were stitched on the over skirt up to about her knees, where they began to gradually fade out. Probably to hide that she wore no corset, it had a deep eggplant color ribbon for an empire waist, and the translucent bell sleeves hid the scars she had accumulated. Absently, she slid into a pair of low purple heels.

"Why are you not stuffed into one of these?" demanded Victoria, before taking the token gasp. Ah, the things women did for fashion and the heaving bosom effect...

Acacia shrugged. "The grace of Eros?" she suggested helplessly, "You know that I wouldn't medically be able to handle it anyways..." She honestly pitied someone for one of the few times in her life, and actually felt terrible that she wasn't suffering too.

"Asthma and old broken ribs, I know," Victoria waved her off casually, "Let's just hope this thing doesn't break my ribs."

"Right," Acacia agreed, guiding her cousin back into the main room. She had her sit on the vanity bench, promising to return with shoes.

Once in the closet alone though, Acacia slumped against the wall. It had just come to her, natural as breathing, that they would have to come back and get her out of that corset once they hit the iceberg. That opened a whole new can of worms that she was surely unable to deal with right now.

To the world, she had always presented a tough face. Utterly fearless to the point of stupidity, she probably seemed to others, waving off the risks of BASE jumping and ice hockey for the fun and thrill. Secretly, there were a great deal of things she was afraid of. The list included but was not limited to: dolphins, dead bodies, birds flying over her, suffocation, snakes, being more than three under water, and most importantly at the moment, being trapped in a sinking ship. And now, here she was on the very ship that had inspired her fear.

'There's two to three of them right there!' Acacia realized, and with a hysterical laugh she began hyperventilating. The walls began to close in around her and a sound like water rushing filled her ears. She could just see the floor tilting, the door closing, the water cold as ice rushing in and-

"Get the white flats!"

The panic attack was stopped in its tracks by Victoria's voice. Slowly the fear left Acacia's body until she felt boneless and weak, her heart pounding erratically with the remaining adrenaline.

Silently, she found the shoes Victoria had requested and practically stumbled out of the wardrobe room. For good measure Acacia kicked the door closed, paranoia setting in.

"You don't look so good," Victoria observed, worrying the top layer of her dress between her fingers.

Acacia snorted and gave her younger cousin a flat look. "These the ones?" she asked, holding up the shoes, "If not, too bad." She knelt to put them on Victoria's feet, since the corset made it impossible for her to do it herself.

Shyly, Victoria held out a foot. "Yeah, they are," she agreed, watching the shoe be put on, "Are you okay?"

"What do you know about me and ships?" inquired Acacia leadingly as she slid the remaining flat onto Vic's other foot.

"That you're absolutely terri- oh..." Victoria trailed off. She obviously got the message.

"I'm not okay, but I'll deal," Acacia resolved, clambering ungracefully to her feet, "Now what do you want me to do with your hair? And keep it simple, please." They both knew that she couldn't fix up anyone's hair other than hers hair to save her life.

Victoria turned to look at herself in the vanity mirror. "Hmmm... Just pull half of it back," she decided vaguely, "Like you do with your ribbon."

Quietly, Acacia did as she was asked. The repetitive motions of brushing through her cousin's fiery curls was soothing and almost Zen-like, reducing her remaining panic to mere cinders. When she finally tied it off with a small black band, her hands felt almost empty.

As always, Acacia shared the mirror as she brushed her own hair out. 'I need a trim,' she thought remorsefully, examining the fried ends. She knew it was bad to bleach, dye and process it as much as she did, but her premature grey showing was a hassle she wanted to avoid at all costs. Currently she was a strawberry blonde with side swept bangs and everything else in front of the ears clipped to jaw level, while the rest of her hair cascaded to nearly mid-back. Her reddish brown eyes stared back at her from the mirror as she tried to decide what to do with her hair that day.

As Victoria rummaged through the jewelry box, Acacia nimbly seized an beautifully carved ivory stick. Figuring that it couldn't look too ridiculous with this dress, she wrapped the long portion of her hair around the stick before twisting it and sticking it through the tightened hair on her scalp. It had the appearance of a kind of messy bun, when she looked at the result.

Then it was Acacia's turn to go through the box, and what she saw left her wide-eyed. Every type of precious or semi-precious stone she had ever heard of was in there, from diamond to sardonyx, all set in white metals that could have been anything from silver to platinum. 'This is more jewelry than I'll ever actually own!' Acacia thought, resisting the urge to dig her hands into it.

Instead, she selected a necklace with a small triangular amethyst and matching earrings. The earrings could barely be noticed, but the square neckline of the dress drew the eye to the necklace. Perfect.

"Can you put the necklace on for me?" requested Victoria with a huff. Immediately her face scrunched up in a pained look and she clutched her side.

"That's the real reason behind the big social rules for women," Acacia chuckled, picking up the mentioned necklace from the vanity top, "Or at least that's what I've always thought."

"Good reason," Victoria ground out. As she took small, rapid breaths, the pain on her face began to fade away.

The chosen pendant was of a ruby and diamond lock and key, a little cutesy and almost modern when Acacia thought about it. With a small smile, she fastened the clasp behind Victoria's neck.

For a moment they looked at themselves in the mirror. It was hard to believe that they were really there, that it was truly their own reflections staring back at them. They honestly did look like royalty at that moment.

"You ready?" asked Acacia. She squeezed her cousin's shoulder encouragingly.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Victoria confirmed, tightening her lips into a thin line, "But aren't you going to do something about your lip?"

When she realized what the redhead meant, Acacia felt ready to slap herself. In all the excitement and panic, she had completely forgotten that her lower lip was pierced. "Anything I do with it will just look weird," she decided, "And you remember when I tried to get rid of it, right?"

"That's one anxiety attack I'll never forget," Victoria swore, a reminiscent look in her eyes, "You were going so crazy without anything to fidget with that you started crying and ended up using a safety pin as a place holder..."

"Yup, that's the time," Acacia agreed dryly, not quite as amused, "Let's get going so we can explore before we have to change clothes."

More or less dreading the moment they met anyone, Acacia helped her cousin to her feet. They took the keys off the table and slipped them into their bras before making their way to the door. With only a little hesitation, Victoria opened it and they set foot out into the Titanic.

* * *

-EOC-

I know, another chapter without Jack and Jim... Hey, at least we got to meet the girls!

Remember, reviews are love.

-Thrae


	3. In Which We Switch Points of View

Back again, though this time it's entirely from Jack's point of view! His first impression of our girls, as well as a crazy accident. I look forward to hearing your comments!

Disclaimer: I own nothing under copyright. See the prologue for full details.

* * *

**In Which We Switch Points of View**

_"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover."_

_-H. Jackson Brown Jr., P.S. I Love You_

John "Jack" Phillips had sunk into routine by noon of the second day, as he always did. The officers were good chaps, each very distinctive in the role they played within their strange bridge family. The other wireless operator, Harold Bride, was an eager and bright-eyed young man, enthusiastic about the ship and even the dark wireless room they were stuck in all the time. It could be much worse, he mused privately.

At the moment, Jack was out on a cigarette break. Otherwise he would be in the wireless shack sending and receiving messages, decoding blips and beeps into English like the second language it was to him. It was entirely boring, but it paid fairly well and that was what mattered.

Idly, he watched the first class passengers walk about as stiffly as his starched collar. What he wouldn't give to be one of them for a day; to see what it was like to go without the blips and bleeps of Morse code in his ears and still live well. Perhaps get married, probably to a pretty and rich little thing, and have a bounty of children before getting old and finally dying between silk sheets.

Loud laughter jerked Jack out of his thoughts. Looking around for whoever was defying social convention, he set eyes on possibly the most fascinating duo he had ever seen.

One was a truly stunning beauty, red-haired with a narrow face and a tall, willowy figure. She clutched her stomach as she leaned on the rail slightly, mouth open wide with the force of her mirth.

It was her companion that truly captured his interest however, a blonde with one of the strangest hair styles he had seen. Half of it was pinned up, but the other half was cut to frame her heart shaped face attractively. She was rather short, and appeared to not be exactly thin, but she was busty and had an athletic look to her arms.

Jack took a couple of steps closer, wondering what inspired their laughter.

"I can't believe you said that!" the blonde exclaimed, choking on her breath. A gleam from her face caught Jack's eye; was that a piece of jewelry on her lip?

The red head threw her head back with a wild grin. "What, he was a complete creeper!" she announced.

"That was Bruce Ismay!" the blonde answered.

With a grin of his own, Jack shook his head at their antics. He agreed with the redhead, however.

"See something you like?"

Startled, Jack heard a crack in his neck with how fast he turned it. A small amount of pain shot from his shoulders to the base of his skull, but he ignored it in favor of glaring. "What's the big idea, sneaking up on me like that?" he demanded.

Sixth Officer James Moody had a bright twinkle in his eyes. "I take it the answer is yes," he said to himself, avoiding the question as he peered around Jack.

With an unamused huff, the wireless operator turned back to watch the two young ladies. They were still laughing, while appearing to threaten each other with interesting and oddly ship-specific ways of death.

"Hung from the anchor, that's one I haven't heard before," chuckled the Sixth Officer, or rather, Jim, as everyone had learned to call him, "I rather like the red head."

"Then why don't you go over and say hello?" asked Jack dryly, bringing his cigarette up to his lips for a last drag. He then tossed the stub overboard carelessly.

Jim had a contemplative look on his face, a strange sight for someone who usually resembled a hyperactive puppy. "I think I will, actually," he decided. He went to take a step forward when the wireless operator grabbed his arm.

"I was joking!" Jack hissed, "Are you insane?" He wasn't just being juvenile; the White Star Line could fire Jim if anything he did or said could be considered inappropriate.

The officer shrugged. "Perhaps," he considered, "But I can always keep it on the topic of the voyage. Light, proper, impersonal." He seemed to dislike the word 'impersonal' especially.

Since Jim seemed so set on it, the other man released his sleeve. "Don't get into any trouble," Jack sighed.

"I won't," Jim said with a jaunty grin, "You know me better than that." With that, he walked away and toward the young ladies, who were now faced away from them.

For his part, Jack simply it another cigarette and observed. He smirked, watching Jim subtly adjust his cuffs before reaching out to tap the redhead on the shoulder. The boy was nervous.

What happened next, he wasn't entirely sure for a few seconds. The redhead started, and reaching back to grab Jim's arm, she literally threw him over her shoulder onto the deck in front of her. It all happened in less than five seconds and one smooth motion, over as suddenly as it began.

Jack choked down laughter at the poor man's expense. 'He will never live this down,' he thought, watching as the redhead's hands went to her mouth in shock. Her apologies were loud and panicked.

Concerned when Jim didn't move after a few seconds, Jack stubbed the cigarette out on the rail. As he walked toward the commotion, he replaced it in his cigarette holder for later.

Reaching Jim and the young women seemed to take forever, but was most likely just a few seconds.

By then the blonde was kneeling beside Jim, hands hovering over his shoulders as if unsure of what to do.

It was then that Jack realized a critical detail: Jim wasn't breathing. His eyes darted around with panic and his lips and throat moved like he was trying to get air, but his chest did not move.

"Oh god," Jack muttered, kneeling on the other side of the officer, "Come on, breathe boy-o." He was in the same hypothetical boat as the blonde woman, wanting to do something, but unsure of what would be best.

It was precious seconds before Jim finally took a shallow gasp. It was longer than Jack liked before he took another. He no longer appeared quite as afraid, but his eyes were a little glazed.

"Let's get him to bed," the blonde muttered, rubbing her left eye with her fingertips, "Best thing for him now is to lay down and not stress out." She looked up at the redhead and then over at Jack. "Can you two get him up?" she asked.

Jack nodded and the redhead switched places with the blonde. Together they pulled him up to a sitting position, right as a strange "ping" sound came from behind Jim.

"A button," the blonde snorted, picking up a gilt coat button, "I think I know exactly what's going on now."

"Three, two, one," the redhead counted down, and on one, she and Jack hauled Jim to his feet. His legs wobbled and nearly buckled, but in the end he was able to support most of his own weight. The odd trio took a shaky step forward.

"What exactly happened, if you don't mind me asking?" Jack asked, looking from in front of him to Jim and back. The officer was pale and not quite in tune with the world, but he was still taking small breaths. That was good enough for now.

It was the redhead who replied, voice strong and unashamed. "He startled me, so I instinctively flipped him over my shoulder," she answered casually, "He should have given me some sort of warning."

"And he landed on a button," added the blonde randomly.

They were about halfway to the bridge now, still taking unsteady steps. "Pray tell, what does the button have to do with this?" inquired Jack sharply.

From behind them, the blond answered, "He landed on the button in such a way that it hit a pressure point in his back and temporarily paralyzed his lungs. Right now he's probably dealing with mild hypoxia, meaning oxygen deprivation." She seemed very calm about the whole matter.

Jack threw a glance over his shoulder. How she knew all that, he didn't feel like hazarding a guess.

Finally, they made it to the bridge. Expectantly, Will Murdoch turned toward them- and froze. "By god, what happened to you, Mr. Moody?" he asked, taking quick strides over to them.

Jim made a strangled sounding gasp, but was unable to get words out apparently.

"It's kind of my fault," the redhead admitted, drawing Will's attention, "He startled me, so I flipped him and he landed wrong."

"He needs to lay down," advised the blonde, "After an hour or so he should be able to speak without any problems, but he'll have minor trouble breathing into the afternoon and his chest will most likely hurt for the rest of the day." She was the image of cool confidence, standing beside Jack with her arms crossed and gaze focused squarely on Will.

Distractedly, Will nodded. "Mr. Bride, Mr. Lowe!" he called in the open door, "I need some help up here!"

Almost as soon as the First Officer called, Fifth Officer Harold Lowe answered. "Yes?" he asked, giving the motley group a strange look.

"Would you get Mr. Bride or Mr. Lightoller for me as well? We have an issue," Will asked calmly.

With a nod, Harry went back inside. He walked into a door on the right- the officers' lounge- and temporarily disappeared.

Will's attention then turned back to the ladies, Jim and Jack. "How you managed to get into this mess, I'm not sure I want to know, Mr. Moody," he said to the Sixth Officer with a small amount of droll humor.

Lights and Harry came back out right then, and both gave the group another strange look.

"You needed me?" asked Lights.

"Yes, I need you and Mr. Phillips to help Mr. Moody into his cabin," Will answered immediately, then turned to Harry, "Mr. Lowe, could you please fetch the doctor?"

"He'll be fine as long as he gets at least an hour laying down," the blonde volunteered again, "I would know, the same thing happened to me twice."

Harry looked to Will, who gestured with his head to get going. Nodding, Harry left in a hurry.

Lights then replaced the redhead under Jim's arm, giving a small grunt at the effort. "He's heavy," the Second Officer muttered to himself, readjusting his fellow officer.

Together, they made their way into the small cabin of the Sixth Officer.

Ultimately, the doctor agreed with waiting it out and just letting Jim rest for now. The whole story had to be explained three more times to Lights, the doctor and the captain, who all had similarly astonished looks at the great feat of strength from the redhead.

"So long as Mr. Moody is able to pull his night shift, nothing will come of it," the captain decided wearily, "The reprimand I would normally give for being discourteous to a passenger holds no water compared to your display."

The redhead blushed slightly, even as she laughed. "We were being a little rowdy and he was probably coming over to tell us off," she told the captain, "It was all my fault."

Jack raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. Sure, they weren't being quiet or demure, but their behavior was far from rowdy.

"Alright then," the captain agreed, "Nothing will be put on Mr. Moody's record for this. Thank you for your honesty, Miss...?" He trailed off, asking for a name.

"King," the redhead supplied, "Victoria King. And this is my cousin, Acacia Wood." She gestured generally to the blonde, who nodded with a friendly smile.

There were a few more proprieties exchanged before the ladies left. Once they were out of sight however, the captain removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair. "Do you believe this?" he sighed lowly.

Jack couldn't agree more with the sentiment as he slipped into the wireless room. He saw Harold diligently working the key and took the opportunity to slip into his bunk for a quick nap.

Acacia. The name made him smile slightly. This was going to be an interesting voyage, with women such as her and her cousin aboard.

* * *

-EOC-

I know, it's short. That sounded like the perfect place to break it off this time, but I'll be back with more soon.

Remember, reviews are love!

-Thrae


	4. In Which Jim Plots and Dinner Begins

And now we switch things up! Time for a lot of different points of view to try to get the full story.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything under copyright. See the prologue for the full disclaimer.

* * *

**In Which Jim Plots and Dinner Begins**

_"Insert the biggest, most awkward silence in the history of big awkward silences."_

_-Cynthia Hand, Unearthly_

"That was the single, most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to me," Victoria declared once they were abreast of the second smoke funnel.

"More than giving birth in the middle of the downtown bus station?" Acacia reminded her playfully.

After a second of thought, Victoria shook her head. "Never mind, make it the second most embarrassing thing," she corrected herself, before glaring at her cousin, "You'll never let me live that down, will you?"

"Never," Acacia agreed with a smirk. She didn't bother to dodge the smack that was aimed at her, knowing that it would hurt Victoria more.

Sure enough, the redhead winced. "I don't know how you pop it out and put it back in without flinching," she admitted, rolling her shoulder, "It hurts a lot..."

More sympathetically now, Acacia linked her arm around her cousin's less painful one. "Practice," she said simply, "You'd better hope that you never get to that point. And everything that we've said just now sounded so dirty, I have no words for it."

Another look at each other and they burst out laughing again. People around them gave disapproving and surprised looks, but Acacia found that she really didn't care now. These people would all die before she was born, so why should she care about their opinions?

A trumpet sounded and another fit of giggles took Acacia, but this time she was alone. At her cousin's uncomprehending look, she quoted, "Why do they always insist on announcing dinner like a damned cavalry charge?"

The familiar spark in Victoria's eyes said that she got the message. "To the room?" she offered.

"To the room," Acacia agreed. She resisted skipping and singing, "We're Off To See The Wizard," the whole way to the door. Barely.

* * *

Before Jack took his shift at the key, he went in to check on Jim. Audibly he knocked on the door before pushing it open.

"You feeling any better?" the wireless operator asked, walking in to sit on the desk chair.

Jim looked over and grinned, a goofy look that instantly put Jack on edge. "I think I love her already," the officer said with all the joy of a child who discovered that Christmas had arrived early.

For a long time, Jack simply stared at his coworker. His mouth was probably hanging a little open, but since they were in private he didn't really care.

On his part, Jim looked completely serious about his sudden declaration. His eyes even shone brighter than Jack had ever seen, full of hope and conviction and... Oh bother, he really was growing feelings for Miss King.

"You're officially mental," Jack sighed, shaking his head, "How would you make this work again?" He had to dissuade Jim from doing something stupid. Or rather, more stupid than usual.

"Be subtle," shrugged Jim, still smiling, although now it was a mildly amused sort of look, "But constantly bump into her, not physically of course, and definitely not from the back, and get to know her a little until it's not creepy to ask if I can write her after the voyage."

Jack mulled it over. "That sounds familiar..." he mumbled to himself, trying to remember where he had heard it.

His smile widening dramatically, Jim let out a short laugh. His expression contorted in pain as he drew in breath, before smoothing again. "Definitely no sneaking up," he muttered to himself, rubbing his chest.

Motion by the door caught Jack's eye, but he ignored it after a moment. It was only Lights walking by. Wait... Lights... "You're using Lights as inspiration, aren't you?" the wireless operator blurted out, amazed that it had taken him this long.

"Exactly," Jim confirmed, satisfied, "It breaks no rules and obviously works, so I may as well try."

"You've got bats in the belfry," Jack sighed, coming to a decision, "But if you're absolutely sure that you want to try this, I'll help." There was always the possibility of running into Acacia...

Again, Jim's eyes brightened until they practically shone like beacons in the half-light. "Thank you," he said, and very obviously meant it, "This means you won't tell Wilde or the captain?"

"Yes, but no promises that Harry or Harold won't," Jack warned wryly, lips twisting upward at the sight of his friend's surprised and excited expression.

"They won't," Jim waved off the possibility casually, "In fact, they might even help."

"Help with what?"

Jack and Jim started, heads swiveling to look to the doorway. There stood the captain in all his glory, a spark in his eyes as always and one eyebrow raised.

"The doctor said to not leave bed, but I'm very hungry and Jack can't cook worth a damn-" Jim fibbed. He was obviously relieved when the captain stopped him in his tracks and winced again as he had to breathe deeply.

"I'm headed toward the mess anyway," Captain Smith said, amused, "I'll ask Harry to fix you up something. You stay in bed so that you can take your shift tonight." He then left as suddenly as he had appeared.

When his footsteps were gone, Jack and Jim both let out sighs of relief. "That was a bit too close," Jim mumbled.

"Did you really have to comment on my cooking?" Jack snorted.

"Well it was the most believable thing I could have said," Jim reasoned, before his smile turned mischievous again, "But anyways, this is what I'm thinking..."

Jack could only pray that one day (preferably before he was fired), Jim would stop thinking all together.

* * *

Eros watched over the drama with a sigh. Somehow mortals always managed to mess up his plans...

The move Victoria pulled had managed to surprise even him. She hadn't looked nearly strong enough to do anything to James...

Carelessly, Eros shrugged. It had given him a good opportunity to hit James with his arrow, and Victoria herself just a few seconds later. He wasn't going to complain too much.

Besides, when it comes to Victoria, James Moody really was a masochist.

* * *

Getting dressed for dinner was almost as much of a pain as dressing for the day. The only difference was that now Acacia was the one being laced up.

"Please not too tight," she begged, fingernails digging grooves into the wood of the door frame.

"I know, I know," was Victoria's uninspiring reply, "Tell me if it gets too tight." She then tugged on the laces.

It wasn't a corset itself that Lil was being laced into, but rather a dress with a built in corset. It was a lovely deep purple color with a gauzy over skirt and square neckline, designed much like the dress she had worn earlier that day. The differences were that instead of an empire waist and bell sleeves, there were cap sleeves and a structured and laced bodice with black lotus flowers designed on the panels.

When the top became too tight, Acacia hissed with pain. Her hands tensed into claws as the ties were slowly loosened.

"Alright, I think we're good," Victoria judged, tying a bow before she stepped back, "Turn around in a circle."

Feeling like a fool, Acacia did as she was told. At least she didn't get a dizzy spell.

"Yep, completely done," Victoria confirmed.

"Then let's get this done and over with," groaned Acacia. She froze when the corset bodice felt too constrictive, but then slowly relaxed. At least she wasn't Victoria.

An unladylike snort came from the redhead. "Now you know a little of how I feel," she grumbled. The small gasps for air that Victoria took were now practiced and almost ignorable.

Acacia gave her cousin a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry," she apologized, raising her shoulders in a helpless shrug, "If I could split the pain with you, I would..."

"No you wouldn't. You'd laugh and leave me to it," Victoria immediately countered, "Now let's get to dinner so we can both suffer equally." She then marched to the doorway of the room. When she opened the door however, she paused right there.

Acacia cocked her head to the side curiously. "What's up?" she asked.

"I see that we have the right room," chuckled the voice of none other than Sixth Officer James Moody.

Amazed, Acacia allowed her jaw to drop slightly as her eyes went painfully wide. The man must have been suicidal.

Moving sideways for a better view of the doorway, Acacia smiled when she saw who else was at the door: First Officer William Murdoch. He wasn't Jack Phillips, but he was definitely nice looking with not a hair out of place.

"Um, what are you doing here?" asked Victoria tactlessly. She shot a confused look over her shoulder at Acacia.

Acacia simply shrugged and moved in closer.

Officer Moody bit his lip nervously before he spoke. "A few of the passengers invited us officers and the captain to dine with them," he explained, eyes firmly focused on Victoria, "We'd like to know if you would perhaps allow us to escort you tonight?" He was so adorable that Acacia damn near melted.

"I'm in," Acacia immediately chimed, grinning. An evening with some of the men she had idolized since she was seven? No way would she pass this up.

Officer Murdoch then nodded and offered a hand in her direction. He gave a smile when he saw the surprise in her expression. "Since Mr. Moody has a few things to say to Miss King..." he trailed off, hinting.

"Of course," Acacia answered. She checked herself for any embarrassing mishaps before she walked past Victoria and took the offered hand. A scarlet blush colored her face when Officer Murdoch brought her gloved knuckles to his lips.

"You look positively radiant," he complimented suavely, before holding out an elbow.  
With a secretive, mischievous smile, Acacia took it. A wink in Victoria's direction later, they were walking toward the forward grand staircase.

"How did you know which room we had?" asked Acacia, once she realized that this was honestly happening.

Officer Murdoch smiled down at her. "We checked the passenger list," he replied with a twinkle in his blue eyes, "Since Mr. Moody knew your names and that you were first class, it was simple enough."

"That would explain it," admitted Acacia as they stopped by the railing. "We waiting for the lovebirds?" she inquired, jerking her head back toward the suite.

A nod was all the answer needed. "Mr. Moody was quite insistent on asking Miss King," Officer Murdoch told his date, obviously amused at his younger cohort, "I've never seen him so determined before."

Acacia smirked, looking back at the door. Victoria had just stepped out and closed it behind her. "She does have a way with men," she mused, watching Officer Moody link arms with his red-haired date, "Although this has to be the funniest way she's ever caught one's attention."

It was obvious that Officer Murdoch had something that he was itching to ask, but he held it in. Good thing too, as the other couple were just a few feet away now.

"Thanks for waiting," said Officer Moody, his bright smile making his dimples stand out even more. He was positively glowing with pleasure.

On the surface, Victoria simply looked like she was on the verge of laughter. For someone who knew her better however, she was ludicrously happy. "Let's get on with it," she suggested, "The sooner we get in there, the sooner we can leave."

As per her advice they started walking, Officer Murdoch and Lil leading. "Not much of a society lady?" the First Officer inquired.

"Definitely not," Acacia answered for her, "Neither of us are."

"We don't usually get along with snobs," added Victoria. That was when Acacia made a mental note to kick her cousin.

Luckily, Officer Moody picked up the conversation from there. He chatted enthusiastically with Victoria the whole way down the stairs and through the reception room. When they neared the open doors to the dining room though, he quieted down.

Acacia and Officer Murdoch had mainly been quiet after that, just listening to the conversation behind them. At the doors however, the First Officer turned to his date and asked, "Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Acacia responded, willing her shoulders to relax. 'They won't notice,' she coached herself, 'They won't notice, they won't notice, they won't notice, and if they do notice, they won't ask. Thank the gods for polite society.'

About half-way through her mental rant, Officer Murdoch opened the door. Suddenly they were wading through a sea of silks and jewels of all colors, so bright and fancy that they almost drew all the attention from the people who wore them. The First Officer expertly guided Acacia through the room, apparently knowing exactly where he was going.

The table that they reached was the biggest one in the middle of the room, capable of seating twelve easily. Only two of the seats were filled, by Captain Smith and the infamous Bruce Ismay.

Acacia felt the urge to hide behind Officer Murdoch when she saw Ismay. He was a complete creeper, and probably a drunkard, who had undressed her and her cousin with his eyes the whole time he had spoken with them earlier. That is, until Victoria told him to get his mustache trimmed before it ate his face. He had been heartily offended by that.

Luckily, the captain noticed them first. "I didn't think I'd be seeing you again so soon, Miss Wood!" he commented, "And on Mr. Murdoch's arm, at that!"

"It was a surprise to me too, Captain," Acacia told him as graciously as possible, avoiding looking at Ismay. She held her hand out meaning to shake, but her knuckles were kissed again.

Then Officer Murdoch guided her to the second seat to the captain's right, seating himself between them.

It was when Victoria was greeted similarly that Ismay looked up, alarmed. His face grew an impossible shade of red, going almost to puce before he took several deep breaths. Only Acacia and Officer Murdoch seemed to notice, however.

"Mr. Ismay looks murderous," Officer Murdoch whispered to Acacia. The feeling of his warm breath against her ear made her shiver slightly.

'I need to get laid,' she thought grimly, resisting the urge to lean into the First Officer, 'I've gone way too long without sex.' To Officer Murdoch however, she replied in a low voice, "We ran into him earlier. Not an experience I'd like to repeat."

"Ah," Officer Murdoch replied in understanding, "He's not a favorite with us officers either."

That was when a hand clapped Acacia's dinner date on the shoulder. "What are you two whispering about, eh?" inquired Officer Lightoller warmly. He took the seat on the other side of Acacia, facing her casually.

"Nothing important," the blonde woman smiled, although her eyes rolled in Ismay's direction.

Subtly, Officer Lightoller took a look and smiled. "Ah, yes," he replied airily, "Lovely sight."  
Acacia had to turn a laughing fit into some minor coughing.

About then Officer Lowe joined them, taking the seat on Officer Lightoller's free side. "I see that you've found yourself a lovely date, Mr. Murdoch," he complimented with a cheeky grin.

"That I have," Officer Murdoch acknowledged, a proud smile coming to his lips, "I'll have to thank Mr. Moody and Miss King if the captain ever lets them sit down." He took a glance over his shoulder and sighed.

When Acacia looked, she nearly snorted. Officer Moody and Victoria were still speaking with the captain, although it was mainly the captain doing the talking. Victoria looked like she was losing patience fast.

"I hope that you are doing well, Miss Wood?" inquired Ismay from across the table with a tight smile.

Acacia raised an eyebrow, but nodded. "Perfectly," she responded politely, "And yourself?" Not that I actually care or anything.

Ismay nodded mechanically. "I was actually wondering how you and your... lovely... cousin, know our fine officers?" he asked. His attempt at being casual was so transparent that it may as well have been non-existent.

"It was on complete accident," Acacia informed him absently, watching Victoria out of the corner of her eye, "Mr. Moody unintentionally startled her when we were being a bit rowdy up on deck, and it made a... lasting impression." In his spine, that is.

Finally, the captain allowed Officer Moody and Victoria to end the conversation and they walked around to take their seats on the end. The whole time, Victoria pointedly ignored Ismay although she smiled at Acacia and all the officers in greeting.

"It is good to see that the officers are being accommodating," replied Ismay with a stiff nod and a strained smile.

Acacia returned the gesture coolly. 'Acacia: 1, Ismay: 0,' she thought, somewhat satisfied.

A greying man with a pleasant face and a notebook in hand then took a seat beside the captain. "Hello," he greeted everyone politely, eyes lingering on Acacia and Victoria.

"That's Thomas Andrews," Officer Murdoch murmured, "The shipbuilder."

A spark of recognition came to Acacia. Upon closer inspection, she decided that the photographs didn't do him justice. "A very dedicated, hard-working man," she praised genuinely, "I admire that."

The apples of Mr. Andrews' cheeks colored as he smiled. "Thank you very much," he said in a graceful Irish lilt, "I'm not quite as familiar with yourself, Missus..."

Laughing quietly, Acacia shook her head. "I'm single," she corrected him, "My name is Acacia Wood."

"The author?" asked Mr. Andrews, the light in his eyes dancing. At her confirmation, he continued, "My wife is a big fan of your books, Miss Wood."

Just as she was about to reply, a flash of red hair caught Acacia's attention. She turned to look at where she saw it curiously, only to freeze when she saw the owner: Rose DeWitt-Bukater. The young woman was real, alive and headed this way.

Acacia's attention turned inward as she struggled to keep her composure. 'Don't gape,' she told herself, closing her eyes, 'Don't stare. Don't act like a damn freak. She's probably going to a nearby table where she'll sit down and be depressed until she decides that she can't take it anymore and tries to throw herself off the back of the ship. I won't influence anything, there's no need for me to freak out.' She opened her eyes again, significantly calmer.

"Are you alright, Miss Wood?" asked Mr. Andrews, glancing in Rose's direction.

With a pasted on smile, Acacia nodded. "Case of mistaken identity," she lied, right as the DeWitt-Bukaters and Cal Hockley reached their table.

There were introductions and greetings all around, although only Cal's seemed genuine at all. Rose was distant, while Ruth acted like an ice queen the whole time. Acacia wasn't too fond of them already, and they hadn't even sat down.

Dinner sure was off to a slow start.

* * *

Eros looked down at the Titanic's dining hall, tapping his fingers on his bow. This wasn't how things were supposed to be, not entirely anyhow. It should have been Jack down there with Acacia, not Will!

"These humans are going to be the death of me, I swear," he muttered to himself.

While yes, the relationship between Victoria and James was budding nicely, Acacia and Jack were awkward and even a little creepy and stalker-ish. It was completely wrong and needed to be remedied quickly. But how...?

Still watching the dinner farce, Eros took a moment to think. What did Jack and Acacia have in common that they could bond over?

They were certainly mature for their ages, and wise beyond their years. But that wouldn't get them too far. It had to be something sudden, something that could be called out by an event... He came up with and tossed out several possibilities before he spied the look on Acacia's face toward Ismay.

The usual glow around Eros brightened with his realization. They were both extremely protective over those they cared for! And although they didn't completely realize it yet, that included each other too.

A wicked smile took root on Eros' face as he rubbed his hands together around his bow. Oh, this would be too much fun... He always did like playing with their little mortal hearts a bit too much.

* * *

-EOC-

Thank you so much for reading! I hope that all the changes in points of view didn't confuse anyone, but I love writing in Eros. I didn't want him to up and disappear, that would make me sad.

Remember: reviews are love!

-Thrae


	5. In Which Blackmail is Found and Used

Disclaimer: I own nothing under copyright. See the prologue for the full disclaimer.

* * *

**In Which Blackmail Is Found and Used By The Exact Wrong Person**

_"Blackmailers never explain their thinking. They're like pirates that way. Dark-hearted, dangerous- and cool like Johnny Depp."_

_-Janette Rallison, How to Take the Ex Out of Ex-Boyfriend_

The whole time at dinner, Ismay made an ass out of himself. It unfortunately wasn't unexpected, but Acacia reprimanded herself for having the slightest bit of hope.

Even Captain Smith seemed annoyed by the third course. The kind sparkle in his eyes had disappeared about then, replaced by a bland look of, "You've got to be shitting me." Or at least, that was how Acacia chose to interpret it.

Officer Moody and Victoria seemed to be in their own little world the whole time, not paying the slightest bit of attention to anyone else at the table. As a result Ruth now looked down her nose at them for using a spoon to eat their ice cream, but they obviously didn't notice.

Whenever she saw them out of the corner of her eye, Acacia smiled somewhat. Maybe Eros was right in sending them back a century... Not that she'd ever admit it.

Most of the hour and a half at dinner was simply an annoyance- except for Cal. His behavior was actually somewhat worrying in Acacia's opinion, as he shifted his dark eyes between her and Victoria the whole time. He was up to something, and she dreaded any of his thoughts coming to light. For such an arrogant, pretentious man, he was actually rather intelligent.

Luckily, he didn't say a word as dessert was taken away.

"Join me for a brandy, gentlemen?" asked Ismay genially, standing. He had already drunk his fair share of champagne and had a slight pink tinge to his cheeks.

Cal nodded and smiled, a sharp expression that Acacia instinctively didn't like. "Of course," he replied, also getting to his feet. He took another glance at Victoria and Officer Moody, before turning his gaze to Acacia.

This time, she didn't allow him to get away with thinking she didn't notice. She raised an eyebrow haughtily.

The corner of Cal's lips curled. Only when the captain spoke did he turn his eyes from Acacia.

"The officers and I are restricted from drinking while at sea," the captain declined courteously, "Perhaps when we reach New York."

Privately, Acacia snorted. 'Not gonna happen, sir,' she thought, although she deeply regretted it. The officers and captain were all good men, so far as she had seen of them.

Officer Murdoch smiled over at her, obviously taking her gesture another way. "Would you like me to take you back?" he offered.

"Please," Acacia accepted, standing as fast as the meal and corset bodice would allow. It was rude if she remembered right, but at the moment all she wanted was to be out of Cal's presence. Politeness be damned.

At her motion, all the men of the table stood aside of Jim. He simply looked confused for a moment before springing to his feet.

To Acacia, the difference between their eras was amusing. "I'm off," she called to the table, "It was nice meeting those of you I met, and good to see the rest of you again." Not entirely, but it wasn't like she could say that to their faces.

With that, Officer Murdoch took her arm and guided her out of the dining room. They were watched by those still sitting with interest, like a zoo exhibit. Acacia dearly wished that she had an ouzi gun hidden in her dress somewhere.

When they made it out of the room, Officer Murdoch finally let his composure slide. "That was possibly the most unpleasant dinner I've ever attended," he announced, "Your company not included." He looked drained and irritated.

"I couldn't agree more," Acacia concurred dryly, "Not even the last lunch I had with Tamika was that bad, and that says something." They began to ascend the stairs now, taking slow steps upward.

"Tamika?" asked Officer Murdoch, who appeared puzzled at the strange name.

Acacia smiled bitterly. "Not someone I usually talk about," she told him shortly, "We had a bad falling out a few years ago." Her grip on Officer Murdoch's elbow tightened for a moment before she forced herself to relax.

"Ah, I won't mention it again," the officer said, seeming to understand, "Although I noticed that Mr. Hockley was looking at you strangely all through dinner." He was frowning deeply, trying to puzzle it out.

"Well I'm not exactly the type of woman he usually comes across," Acacia reasoned, although she didn't believe it herself. It was all vain hope by now.

It was about then that they reached her stateroom door, just a flight up from the dining hall and a few yards down the hall. Acacia had chosen it aboard the Titanic II specifically for its proximity to the staircase; she was paranoid like that.

They paused outside the door as Acacia took the key out of her bra. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Officer Murdoch subtly look away and smirked. 'Aw, such a proper gentleman,' she thought patronizingly, if such a thing were possible.

Once the door was cracked open, the silence between them turned almost awkward. Officer Murdoch fiddled with his cap, which he had held under one arm since standing in the dining room.

Acacia smiled down at the floor, before turning to look up to her dinner date. "Thank you for inviting me, Officer Murdoch," she told him, surprisingly honest in the sentiment, "You kept me sane in there."

"It was my pleasure," he returned, the twinkle back in his eyes, "Please, when it's just us, call me Will."

"Then I'm Acacia to you," she stumbled over her words. Wincing at herself, she closed her eyes.

When she opened her eyes, she noticed that Officer Murdoch- no, Will- was a little closer than before. She took the initiative and stood on her toes to press her lips to his cheek.

"Thank you again, Will," she smiled, backing away into her room, "Good night."

"Good night, Acacia," Will returned, and his grin probably could have powered New York for an hour.

With that, Acacia closed the door and locked it behind her. She listened to his footsteps as he walked away, then squealed when they couldn't be heard anymore. Without any thought to it, she did a happy dance right there in front of the door.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!" she exclaimed to herself, "That actually happened! That actually really happened and I really kissed Will Murdoch!" Grinning like a loon, she made her way over to the bigger bed and flopped down.

'You know, I think that if I manage to die when the ship sinks, I might die content,' Acacia thought, closing her eyes with a large smile, 'Not quite happy, but content.'

No, to die happy, the basic scenario would have to involve Jack Phillips and a lot more lip contact.

Not even realizing that it was happening, Acacia slid off to sleep and dreamed of a handsome wireless operator.

* * *

On April 12, 1912, Acacia was woken by being shoved out of bed. "What's the big idea?" she grumbled, glaring blearily at her attacker.

Victoria looked unrepentant. "Cal is waiting in the sitting room for you," she told her cousin through pursed lips, "He wants you to come to breakfast with him." She then yanked the covers away, before flitting over to the wardrobe room.

"Cal... Hockley?" asked Acacia, struggling to sit up. She cursed when she looked down at her torso and realized that she hadn't changed clothes last night. "Why didn't you wake me up and have me change?" she demanded once she finally pushed herself up onto her knees.

"I did the same thing," Victoria's voice echoed from in the wardrobe room, "But the wrinkles aren't a big deal since the dresses will go down with the ship anyway."

Idly, Acacia bobbed her head from side to side. She was mostly awake now, wondering when her hair had come undone. A look in the mirror however, almost made her laugh; she looked a right mess, her hair half-curled and lines on her skin from the dress.

"What the hell he wants with you, I have no idea," Victoria continued from in the wardrobe room, "Did he mention anything at dinner?"

"No," Acacia replied, dread roiling in her stomach, "Nothing."

There was silence from the wardrobe room for a moment. "You'd probably better look nice anyway," Victoria suggested, "He's not the king of England, but he's not a small-fry either. Peach or pink?"

"Peach," Acacia answered resoundingly, "You know pink doesn't look good on me. So what did you do after I came back here?" She honestly was curious.

"Jim and I went for a walk around the deck," Victoria answered, positively glowing as she stepped out of the wardrobe room with the desired dress in her arms, "We spent most of the time until his shift sitting on deck chairs talking, and god is he sweet. Practically gives me cavities just thinking about him. He's a great kisser too." There was no way she wasn't as happy as a pig in slop.

"So now it's Jim, huh?" teased Acacia, standing up and turning away from her cousin.

The dress was laid out on the bed and Victoria began to loosen the laces of the dress bodice.

"Look who's talking," she retorted, "When I came in you were wrapped around your pillow mumbling about Jack. So it's Jack now, huh?"

"You can't judge me," Acacia proclaimed, "I've had a crush on him since I was like, seven." Unfortunately, she wasn't exaggerating.

"That's just sad," Victoria commented, right as she stepped away, "All done."

Regardless of not being alone, Acacia tugged the gown over her head and off awkwardly. She rolled her right shoulder once the horrible dress was on the floor, and rubbed it absently. Even half a year later, it still felt strange to have mechanical joints.

She pulled the peach dress over her head with little effort, admiring the way that it made her skin appear less pale. It was much like yesterday's dress with the over skirt and bell sleeves, but this time with a sweetheart neckline and sparrows fluttering about the skirt.

A little rummaging in the jewelry box uncovered a citrine jewelry set, with which Acacia replaced last night's amethysts quickly. Again she fastened her hair up with the ivory stick and tucked a key into her bra.

"If I'm not back in two hours, I've thrown him overboard," Acacia reported blandly. She was about to get up from the vanity bench when she noticed that Victoria was smirking. "What did I forget?" she asked, searching herself.

"You'll want to change shoes," the redhead suggested.

Looking down, Acacia did slap her forehead this time. Without comment she kicked off the purple heels she had managed to sleep in and replaced them with low white mary janes.

"Better," Victoria judged, satisfied now, "Tell me what happens when you get back." She stood off to the side of the door, again worrying her skirt between her fingers. It was a nervous habit she had never been able to rid herself of.

This time when Acacia stood up, it went without contest. She pulled the skirt out from between her cousin's fingers with a silent reprimand, before smiling fakely. "I'm sure it'll all be fine," she assured Victoria, although she didn't feel it herself, "He's probably just curious about the books, like everyone else."

"Mhm," hummed Victoria, unconvinced.

With that, Acacia steeled herself and finally opened the door to the sitting room. Immediately her eyes went to Cal, who was lounging in an armchair comfortably like he owned the place.

"I apologize for keeping you waiting," Acacia said, although she was sure her eyes told a much different story, "My cousin says that you wish to speak to me?" She drew herself up to her full height, straightening her back and holding her chin high.

Cal was standing in an instant. "This would be best discussed over breakfast, don't you think?" he suggested with a charming grin.

No matter how much she wanted to refuse, she simply smiled and nodded. There was a look in his eyes that Acacia didn't particularly like, and she didn't want Victoria to possibly see the fallout.

"Then we'd best be going," she agreed.

Cautiously, she accepted the arm that was offered and walked with him to the door. Cal opened it and allowed her to pass through before him, behaving like a perfect gentleman. Which Rose can testify that he's definitely not.

The door was closed and locked by Victoria, probably so that she could get a few hours more shut-eye.

That unfortunately left Acacia perfectly alone with Cal and at his mercy. She reflexively clenched her free fist in her dress, before relaxing it. "Are we going to the restaurant?" she questioned, having nothing better to say.

"That was my plan, yes," Cal chuckled, leading her over to the grand staircase.

They then ended up engaging in meaningless pleasantries the whole way to the restaurant on A deck. To make the event even less flattering, the venue was on the other end of the ship.

By the time she finally seated herself at a table, Acacia's mental rope was badly frayed. Briefly, she wondered who was controlling her body; normally, she would have run away screaming by now. Instead, she was looking to Cal with an expectant expression.

A waiter came to them almost the same instant that Cal took his seat across the small table. He spoke French as he handed them menus, before executing a polite nod and leaving in a flash.

Desperate for a distraction, Acacia held hers up close to read. Then, she blinked. Even the menu was in French.

"Do you need assistance?" asked Cal, although the fact that it was a question didn't hamper the surety in his tone.

Acacia lowered the menu a trifle so that her full face could be seen. "Yes, actually," she admitted shamelessly, "I never learned French."

At that, Cal grinned like the cat that got the canary. "You aren't really a first class lady, are you?" he asked smoothly.

The only sign that Acacia had frozen was the tension in her shoulders. "Considering that it's my name on the ticket for a first class stateroom, I have to say that yes I am for this voyage," she disagreed coolly, "Is that all that you wished to say, or are there more insults you'd like to try hurling? Because I assure you, I have a very thick skin and distinct thoughts of leaving."

"Don't be like that," Cal said in what was most likely supposed to be a soothing tone, although it was more of an order, "That's not all I wanted." He leaned back in the chair confidently, legs crossed and hands laid on the arm rests. Somehow, he thought he had an advantage.

"Then get talking," Acacia ordered, eyes narrowed as she glared across the table at him. She wished that the restaurant were more crowded; perhaps then this particular conversation wouldn't have happened.

The waiter chose that moment to appear, speaking French again. Cal casually replied in kind, apparently ordering for both of them as the waiter then disappeared.

"Please tell me that you didn't order lamb," Acacia said blandly. If so, he would be getting a Colombian necktie very soon.

"Scones and tea," Cal replied, smirking, "You really didn't learn French like a proper lady."

"No, I learned German, Hindi and Japanese," Acacia fired back.

For a moment, Cal looked impressed. Then his business face went up and the look in his eyes got dangerous. "I know about you and Mr. Murdoch," he told her, as if he were simply commenting on the weather, "I can have him fired for fraternizing with the passengers."

"I have a hard time believing that a simple friendship would result in such," Acacia dismissed, folding her hands on her lap. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end, but she ignored it. If Cal sensed even a hint of fear, he would go in for the kill. Brutally.

He did anyways. "I don't think that your cousin's relations with Mr. Moody would qualify as being under the friendship umbrella," he stated calmly.

Acacia couldn't help it; her eyes went wide and took in a sharp gasp. Her mind immediately went into overdrive, running at such high speeds that she couldn't consciously comprehend anything that was going through it. Her entire thought process was a jumble and she was sure that there should be smoke coming from her ears.

"I can tell the captain about their little dalliance on deck," intoned Cal ominously.

The waiter came back with a tray on one arm. With practiced ease he set out a tea set, a plate of scones, a dish of butter and a pot of honey on the table. He poured tea into each cup before setting the pot down in the middle silently.

Cal said something to him with an approving nod, and the waiter disappeared.

Meanwhile, Acacia's face had gone tragically white. Her brain had completely melted at this point, the only thought left being that she needed to keep Cal's mouth shut. "Please don't," she whispered, "Please."

"There is another option," Cal offered. He casually took up his cup of tea and sipped at it.

Acacia's eyes lowered to her hands, which she just realized were scrunching her skirt up. She released the fabric and folded her hands again, contemplating. Did she really want to play his game?

A mental image of Victoria in tears over Mr. Moody's job loss hit her. Acacia's stomach dropped just from the thought, and she sighed. Yes, she would be willing to sell her soul to the devil.

"What's the option?" she asked quietly, already decided.

Cal leaned in to murmur the demand across the table: "Warm my bed."

Taken aback, Acacia choked, "Excuse me?" She had to have heard wrong.

"You heard me," Cal confirmed lowly, "Share my bed when I call for you, and their secret will be kept safe."

"Why me?" Acacia asked, scowling, "I'm not the pretty one, you've seen the scars." She shoved her sleeves up to showcase the extensive surgical marks. They went the whole way up the inner crease of her arm from the middle of her forearm to the middle of the upper.

There was no reaction other than a smirk. "I find you fascinating, Miss Wood," Cal replied simply, "You're a wildcat, very unlike a real lady yet with all the charms of one. And may I say, an exquisite form."

"So basically I'm that bad girl your daddy told you to stay away from," Acacia summarized with disgust, allowing her sleeves to fall down her arms again, "I get it now. But isn't there anything else you could want from me instead?" She very much hoped so; he made her skin crawl just in the way he looked at her.

"Do you want me to go to the captain?" Cal threatened, taking a sip of his tea.

Closing her eyes, Acacia took a deep breath. "No, I don't," she breathed once she was calm again, "But how do I know you won't if I do this?"

A shark-like grin took Cal's face, though it was hidden behind the rim of his cup seconds later. "You don't," he replied simply.

This was a tight space between a rock and a hard place if Acacia had ever seen one. More than that, it was a deal with the devil. But did she have any choice? It was a vital part of the events on April 14, 1912 that Officer Moody be on watch, and if he were told on then he wouldn't be there. It would mess up everything she knew.

"Fine," agreed Acacia shortly, "Let me know when and I'll be there."

"Tonight, eleven o'clock," Cal told her, smiling smugly, "Come to room B56 and make sure that you aren't seen. No one is to know about our little arrangement."

Jerkily, Acacia nodded. "I can't believe that you're blackmailing me," she muttered.

"That's how the world works," Cal replied easily, setting down his cup to reach for a scone, "Go ahead and eat."

Acacia had to resist the temptation of cramming that damn scone down his windpipe. "Thank you for your kind offer, but I've lost my appetite," she stated almost cheerfully, a smile pasted onto her face. On the inside, she was screaming, kicking and crying at the unfairness of it all.

The rest of breakfast passed by in a blur for Acacia. She didn't remember when she emptied her tea cup, just knew that it wasn't onto Cal's lap where it belonged. Her stomach rumbled inaudibly, but the instinct to eat seemed broken.

It was only when Cal stood up that she realized breakfast was over. Hurriedly, she got to her feet as well.

Again, Acacia took his arm as they walked out of the cafe. This time she felt nauseous at touching him. 'And it's only going to get more intimate from here,' she reminded herself grimly, although the smile was still pasted onto her face.

They were about to descend the stairs when Acacia touched Cal's arm. "Thank you, but I'll be fine from here," she told him quietly, "I was going to take the air out on the boat deck." And possibly puke over the rail.

"Very well," Cal agreed, releasing her arm, "I look forward to seeing you again soon, Miss Wood." He then took off down the stairs without looking back.

"I wish I could say the same," mumbled Acacia, glaring malevolently at the back of his head until it was gone. As soon as her blackmailer was out of sight, she took off running. Up a flight of stairs, through the doors out onto the deck and up it until finally she was stopped by a wall, she went as fast as her legs would carry her. She didn't notice that it wasn't sweat dripping down her face, it was tears.

* * *

Running feet caught Jack Phillips' attention as he stood outdoors smoking. He would be the first to admit that he was like a chimney, but saw no point in stopping. That is, until a blur of peach and reddish gold passed him by; from the back, he recognized the person as Acacia.

Without a second thought, Jack stubbed his cigarette out on the rail and replaced it in his holder. Jogging to possibly catch up, he saw that he didn't need to. She had stopped and was leaning heavily on the bridge wall.

"Miss Wood?" he asked cautiously, "Is everything alright?" Jack approached slowly, like one would come up to an injured animal.

The shaking of Acacia's shoulders said everything. She was far from fine.

The bottom of Jack's stomach dropped out and he felt fury begin to well up. Whatever had upset her must have been serious. His pace automatically sped up, long legs reaching Acacia within a minute.

Just as he reached her, her knees buckled and she fell to the floor in a mess. Even worse, she showed no signs of getting up. All she did was curl up with her back against the wall and her chin on her knees.

For a moment Jack stood in front of her, indecisive. When Acacia's shoulders started shaking even harder, he felt a surge of something unfamiliar. He genuinely wanted to make everything alright again.

Startled by his own wishes, Jack put his back to the wall beside her and slid down. For a few minutes they languished in an awkward, emotionally explosive silence. Jack wondered what he should do, looking at the emotionally distraught female beside him. Finally, he decided on taking his cigarette back out. He was right beside the rail anyway.

The clicking noise of the case seemed to startle Acacia, as she whirled around to face him in an instant. When she realized who was beside her however, she relaxed and put her back to the wall again.

"What happened?" inquired Jack, offering his open cigarette case.

Acacia shook her head. "I need you to give Mr. Moody a message for me," she murmured. Her voice was barely audible over the waves.

Jack's eyes narrowed subtly. If Jim had done something, he'd kill the boy himself. But that didn't make sense, the officer had come back right before midnight, over the moon about Miss King. "What's the message?" he finally asked.

"He and Vic need to be more careful," Acacia said lowly, "Someone saw them last night."

'Shit,' was the first thought that went through Jack's mind. The second, he asked aloud, "But why are you crying?"

"Oh this?" Acacia let out a tearful giggle, wiping her face with her sleeve, "An old lady was being particularly nasty about what she thought she saw. Just struck a nerve."

Jack wasn't sure he bought that. But he accepted the answer for the moment, lighting his cigarette.

Movement in the bridge caught his eye; Harold was standing in the entryway staring at them with interest. Subtly Jack shook his head, and with an understanding nod the younger wireless operator slid back inside.

"Have you ever had someone that you would do absolutely anything for?" asked Acacia in a small voice as she played with the hem of her dress, "Who means so much to you that seeing them unhappy kind of kills you inside?"

Surprised at the question, Jack shook his head. "I haven't found that person yet," he said lowly, before taking a drag from his cigarette. A pang went through his chest; was she talking about Will?

"Not necessarily a romantic type of "I'd do anything," but any kind," continued Acacia. She turned to look at Jack now, and the tear tracks on her face shone in the sunlight.

"Perhaps my mother," Jack answered, puzzled about where this was all coming from. Was it something Miss King did?

The corner of Acacia's lips turned up in a sad half-smile. "Keep it that way," she advised simply.

"What's bringing on all this depth?" asked Jack in an attempt at a playful tone, like Jim would probably use, "It doesn't seem like you, Miss Wood."

"Call me Acacia when it's just us," she corrected, resting the side of her head on her knees, "Or with Will, Victoria or Officer Moody."  
Jack smiled and took another puff. "Call me Jack in the same company then," he offered, "Or around pretty much anyone but the captain and Wilde. They're sticklers for the rules."

"Alright then... Jack," Acacia agreed, testing out the sound of his name. She grinned brightly, her eyes closing with the force of it, and a piercing on her lower lip glinted in the sun.

That was the moment that Jack's heart honestly jumped in his throat. He couldn't believe it, as a woman had never caught his attention like this before. But this was completely different.

Her hair was mussed from running, her eyes were swollen up and her cheeks were shiny from tears, but in that moment Acacia was possibly the most beautiful woman on earth. All the flaws simply made Jack more aware that she was real and imperfect, just like him. Perhaps she was even within reach.

Without even thinking of it, Jack drew a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at her cheeks. "Tears don't suit you," he told her in all honesty.

"It usually takes a lot to make me cry," Acacia commented, not protesting the intimacy of the attention being given to her, "I guess this was the straw that broke the camel's back." Her eye winced shut when the smoke from Jack's cigarette floated into her face.

"Even the little things add up," agreed Jack, tucking the damp handkerchief away in his pocket.

For a moment they sat in silence, just looking at each other. There was no awkwardness, no expectation, only peace and the sounds of the sea around them. Acacia was examining his face carefully, as if unsure she'd ever get another chance.

"Will you be out here again tomorrow?" she finally asked.

Again, Jack's heart leaped into his throat. He nodded. "I manage to sneak out of the wireless shack pretty often," he said quietly.

He was rewarded with another smile. "You lazy bum..." Acacia teased, "I'll be happy to talk some more then. Right now, I need to go back to bed." She let out a yawn and blinked heavily.

"Bed? This late in the morning?" questioned Jack incredulously.

"I'm a night owl, Jack," Acacia explained drolly, "I'm only up because somebody wouldn't wait until lunch to see me." She then threw a dirty look at the passenger section of the promenade deck and immaturely stuck her tongue out at it. Something shiny glinted from behind her teeth, but her tongue withdrew into her mouth before Jack could figure out what it was. Perhaps yet another piercing?

He stared at her in disbelief for a second, before he shook his head and chuckled. In the bland, boring world he was familiar with, Acacia really was a burst of color.

"You should get back to work," she suggested, clambering to her feet, "I saw someone come out and look at us funny a while ago."

"It was just Harold," Jack dismissed, before getting up more gracefully, "Do you want me to walk you to your cabin?" Really, he just wanted to spend more time with her.

Acacia shook her head. "Thanks, but no thanks," she disagreed, "I'll see you later or tomorrow, Jack." With a small smile in parting, she took her leave.

"I look forward to it," Jack returned, watching Acacia return to the passenger area. He then allowed himself a grin as he finished off his cigarette and threw the butt overboard. Today was just getting better and better.

* * *

By the time Acacia made it back to bed, she felt ready to drop. Between crying, dealing with Cal and sleeping in a corset bodice, her body was about to turn in its resignation.

"So what happened?" demanded Victoria the instant she got into the stateroom. She was sitting on her bed, thumping her foot impatiently against the floor as she stared expectantly at her cousin.

Again, Acacia lied. She flopped onto her bed and snorted, "He tried to convince me out of an advance copy of my next book. The book I haven't even thought of writing yet."

Not even thinking to question it, Victoria laughed. "How mad was he when you told him that?" she quizzed, eyes sparkling as she jumped onto her bed.

"Completely steamed," Acacia confirmed with a smirk, "And you know the best part? He couldn't do a thing." Again she wondered who had taken over her body. Whoever it was, they put up a damn convincing act.

"Ohoho!" Victoria hooted, "This is sure to go down in the record books!" She grinned and threw her head back, spilling her scarlet curls over her shoulders.

The sight made the knot in Acacia's chest ease. 'This is for her,' she reminded herself, 'We can't alter the timeline, and Officer Moody's presence on the bridge is a vital part of that. Our mere presence might have even altered things. Hell, we all might even survive this and if this gets out then he'll never be able to find work again. I can't risk that. This will be worth it.'

Then why did the thought make her want to cry?

* * *

-EOC-

Hope that went alright. Remember- we're still on April eleventh here!

Come on and give me some love (reviews), guys.

-Thrae


	6. In Which They Share Their First Kiss

Disclaimer: I own nothing under copyright. See the prologue for the full disclaimer.

* * *

**In Which They Share Their First Kiss (and Second)**

_"If you want to know what a man's like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals."_

_-J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_

That night brought the two events Acacia was looking forward to the least of anything: dinner and Cal. Word had it that she and Victoria were scheduled to sit with the DeWitt-Bukaters and Cal again, but this time with other first class passengers instead of the officers. She desperately hoped that Mr. Andrews and Molly Brown were two of those passengers.

While dressing, Victoria had chattered away about how she and Officer Moody were going to walk around the decks afterward. Lil wondered where all this enthusiasm came from.

"You'll want to be more careful about where you canoodle this time," warned the blonde, slipping her black heels on, "I barely managed to convince this guy that it wasn't you he saw last night." She readjusted her skirt, trying to make it lie flat.

"What?" squawked Victoria, turning around so fast her neck audibly cracked, "Who saw?"

"Don't know his name," Acacia lied, "He just saw me and demanded to know if I knew about your 'shameful behavior', to which I said that he must have been mistaken because you had retired early with me."

With relief evident, Victoria sighed. She slumped over as far as the corset would let her and wiped her brow with the back of her hand. "Do you know how much I love you?" she questioned hypothetically.

'Not enough to get me back out of the mess you inadvertently put me in,' Acacia thought, but still chuckled and rolled her eyes. "I think so, but a reminder would be nice," she decided after a moment of pretending to think about it.

"This much!" Victoria cheered, extending the I in 'this'. She then opened her arms as far out and back as she possibly could, given the confines of her clothing.

Acacia laughed at the display. "Aw, I love you too cous'," she told the younger woman, watching her flit about again. The redhead looked particularly exquisite tonight in a form-fitting cloth-of-gold dress with a top layer of black lace, but kept messing with her hair and jewelry.

Not caring as she normally would have, Acacia didn't put in much effort. The dress would be on the floor of Cal's suite by the end of the night anyway. Despite having found a color of orange that actually looked good on her (burnt orange, to be precise), she didn't feel very enthusiastic about physical appearances.

'Maybe if I were ugly he would have just wanted money,' Acacia mused for a moment. Then she shook herself out of the gloom. It seemed like Cal was taking over her life with his blackmail, and that was something she would not allow to happen.

"Come on, let's go so we can get out faster," Acacia suggested, jerking her head toward the door. She then smirked and teased, "And you can see your beloved Jim again."

Victoria blushed, but didn't bother denying it as she opened the door to the hall.

The whole way to the dining room Acacia was quiet, and she felt like her feet were dragging of their own volition. She didn't blame them at all. If it weren't for appearances, she wouldn't even be going.

Then, they reached the peacock parade called dinner. It was just like yesterday, but with no officers to keep them sane. Women laughed politely at the bad jokes men told or the stories that were in no way actually amusing, while the men busied themselves with being masters of the universe. The whole display was revolting.

And right there in the middle of it was Cal. He sat between Rose and Ruth, talking (probably about the money they all loved so much) with Colonel Gracie and Mr. Duff Gordon. When Victoria and Acacia arrived at the table however, he broke off the conversation to grin at them.

"Hello all," Victoria greeted the whole table before choosing a seat beside Molly Brown.

Lil forced her face into a smile and nodded, taking the open seat beside her cousin. Luckily, on her other side was someone tolerable; Mr. Andrews.

"Some new faces!" Molly observed with a big smile, examining them, "I'm Margaret Brown, but you can call me Molly." She held out her hand to Vic, who shook it firmly.

"Victoria King, and this is my cousin Acacia Wood," Vic replied, warming up to Molly fast.

"Where are your men tonight?" asked Molly warmly, "They shouldn't leave jewels like you alone too long or someone'll try to snatch you up!" Her eyes shone as she obviously referred to Officer Moody and Will.

Acacia snorted. "They're the ship's officers," she explained, "We were just their arm candy last night."

The conversation soon turned light things and Lil found honest enjoyment in it. Sometimes Mr. Andrews would have input, and Rose even looked interested when it switched to feminism. Women's rights was a very advanced and controversial subject in the Edwardian era, from what Acacia remembered.

What was not however, was eugenics. The second the word was mentioned by none other than Bruce Ismay, Acacia froze in place. Without complaint she managed to sit through almost the whole conversation, but the theories of how to go about negative eugenics ultimately made her blow her top.

"Kill them all and let God sort it out," Ismay had shrugged, casually leaning back, "The disabled, the criminals, Jews, gypsies, blacks and all the rest."

That was when Acacia smiled. If Ismay had known her, then that look would have made him cower in fear; it was her "That's the kind of thing that I normally torture and kill people for" smile. The lack of torture in her portfolio is ignorable.

Of course Cal noticed. He had been watching her all night, after all. "It appears that you agree with that statement, Miss Wood," he observed, the corner of his lips tilting upward in a smug smirk.

"Actually, you couldn't be more wrong Mr. Hockley," Acacia stated in a sugary sweet tone, "I have a very strong personal objection to eugenics."

It was probably the tone of voice that finally drew Victoria's attention to the conversation; she had heard it before and seen the hospital bills associated. Thankfully she hadn't been paying attention previously, or else she would have already committed homicide.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, looking between the men and her elder cousin. She was ignored.

"If you do not mind, what are your thoughts on the subject, Miss Wood?" inquired Bruce Ismay with a raised eyebrow. He most likely still held a grudge over the mustache comment.

At Acacia's side, Mr. Andrews shifted in his seat uneasily. "Perhaps now is not the time, Mr. Ismay," he suggested.

"Now happens to be the perfect time, I think," Acacia disagreed politely, with a sip of her champagne, "And I have no objection to sharing my thoughts, if you're prepared to face an educated, liberal woman." She gave Ismay a cold look over the rim of her glass, daring him to continue.

As expected, Ismay did. Although even Cal was giving him warning looks, he plowed on, "I would be delighted to hear your educated, liberal standpoint."

The whole table was rife with tension, with Ismay and Acacia at the center of it. All other conversation had quieted and even Rose and Ruth watched in fascination. Or they were too afraid to get caught in the middle of it.

"Since you insist," Acacia sighed, setting down her glass. She folded her hands in her lap, before continuing, "I think that your so-called science of eugenics is the bastard offspring of bigotry, racism and incomplete knowledge of the human condition and biology."

Even Victoria stared at her in amazement now. For the second time that evening, the table gave Acacia glances of horror, but this time she was apathetic.

"Getting rid of the so-called inferior races would leave most of what's left stemming out of the same basic gene pool and most likely encourage inbreeding through the generations, which has far more devastating effects," Acacia continued, her eyes boring relentlessly into Ismay's as she spoke, "Not only that, but some of the world's most brilliant minds were considered to be of the unwanted varieties of people- Jews, nomads, etcetera. They brought us the pyramids, the wisdom of the ages which still serves us well today, and since Jesus was a Jew, you're a hypocrite as well as a fool for your sentiments."

The more Acacia spoke, the redder and more enraged Ismay appeared. By the end of her rant, the director of the White Star Line was nearing a rich puce color in the face. "You obviously have no idea what you speak of," he ground out, "And that is why women should stay where they belong and where God desired them to be- in the kitchen or the bedroom."

Even Ruth looked minutely offended by that. She stared at Ismay with wide eyes, seeming to not quite believe her ears. The rest of the table seemed to be in the same boat, but unable to find the words for it.

On the other hand, Rose appeared delighted with the new turn. Her eyes sparkled as she looked from Acacia to Ismay and back, although she did not allow herself a smile.

A coughing fit from Acacia's right confirmed that Mr. Andrews was glad to see someone stand up to his employer- regardless of the topic. It was the sparkle in his eyes that gave him away.

Acacia allowed herself a satisfied, almost gloating smirk. "Checkmate, Ismay," she murmured. She then left without another word, smiling to herself as she heard Ismay spluttering incoherently the whole way out of the dining room.

'That one's for you, Dad,' Acacia thought as the doors closed behind her.

* * *

Instead of going back to her room, Acacia ascended the grand staircase up to the deck. She was too hot from the argument in the dining hall to be able to do anything more than steam in the suite- perhaps she would find a distraction on deck.

'Hopefully that distraction will be named Jack Phillips,' she thought drolly, allowing herself a small smile. Ah, if only she were so lucky.

A walk around the boat deck showed no signs of her favorite habitual smoker. However, there was another that Acacia recognized very well: Sixth Officer James Moody.

"Hello, Officer Moody," she greeted him quietly, leaning on the rail beside him.

Not startled in the least, he grinned over at her. "Shouldn't you be at dinner, Miss Wood?" he asked, before taking a puff off of his cancer stick.

"Call me Acacia, none of this 'Miss Wood' stuff anymore since you're sneaking around with my cousin. I just left," Acacia shrugged, watching the smoke float out of Officer Moody's nostrils, "Had an argument with Ismay and left him completely humiliated. I think he'll be out for revenge this time." She picked at her left thumb nail with the right, realizing that she had forgotten her gloves at the dinner table. Hopefully Victoria would remember them.

For a moment, Officer Moody simply stared at her. Then a grin broke open his face and he threw his head back laughing. "My god, this is something that we have to tell Jack," he encouraged, stubbing out his cigarette and putting it in his pocket, "And when it's just us, or with Jack or Victoria, call me Jim." He then led her into the bridge by her wrist, heading down a hallway and to the left. The only door on the right hung open; the wireless shack.

Acacia observed the room with interest, mainly looking at the massive telegraph machine. She thought of her cell phone, which laid on her nightstand on the Titanic II, and wondered what anyone now would think about it.

At the key sat Jack, working diligently at the key with one hand and a pencil in the other. He muttered incomprehensibly beneath his breath as he wrote. It was when he put the pencil down that Officer Moody- no, Jim- tapped him on the shoulder.

Half-hidden behind Jim, Acacia watched as Jack looked over his shoulder. With a smile, he took off the clunky headphones he had been wearing and set them on the desk. "Hey Jim," he said, rolling his neck, "What're you in here for?"

"Your lovely lady found me on deck and told me something I thought you might want to know, as I hear you bear a grudge against Ismay," Jim told him excitedly.

Surprised, Jack blinked and tilted his head to the side. "What's that?" he questioned.

"I'll just have her tell you herself," Jim said, stepping to the side to allow Acacia into the cramped room. This effectively backed him into a corner, but he didn't seem to care.

When Jack saw her, he grinned widely. "What a sight for sore eyes," he teased, "Smiling and all."

"I'm still a bit steamed up," Acacia sighed, although she couldn't help her face softening at the sight of the wireless operator's smile, "But yes, I've decided that I'd rather be happy about humiliating Ismay than angry about his choice in opinions."

"You did what?" asked an unfamiliar voice from behind a curtain. Not a second later, a baby-faced man poked his head around the cloth divider.

"Ismay asked for my opinion, so I told him," Acacia shrugged, not seeing what all the fuss was about, "And in the process called him and his beliefs bigoted, racist, hypocritical and foolish." She bit down on her labret lightly, twiddling the back side with her tongue.

The men all looked like Christmas had come early and they had been showered in gifts. The young man, who Acacia assumed to be Harold Bride, and Jim looked especially pleased.

Meanwhile, Jack had raised his eyes to the ceiling and was mumbling something under his breath.

"Is he really that much of a control freak?" asked Acacia, looking from one man to the other with some puzzlement.

"Control freak?" Harold repeated, before going on to say, "That's the least of it! He thinks he's god or something!"

"Oh yeah, I also brought up religion in that argument," Acacia mused, smiling at the memory, "He didn't take that so well either."

Jack had finished what seemed to be a prayer and now simply appeared dumbfounded. "You do know that he'll be after you with a vengeance," he commented.

"He probably was already after the mustache comment," Acacia snorted, "Why not pile on the abuse since none of you can? It's not like he can really touch me since we work in completely separate industries."

"If it weren't for Victoria, I'd ask you to marry me," Jim commented.

"That's one of the worst jokes I've ever heard," Acacia said blandly, raising an eyebrow at him.

Jack cut in. "I'm pretty sure he's not joking, Acacia," he smirked, "But unfortunately for him, he does have Miss King, and so you're still available."

"Not for long!" Harold declared cheerfully.

At the same time, Jack and Acacia looked at him. While the blonde woman gave him a saucy wink that made him blush, his coworker treated him to a warning glare. Harold got the message fast, laughing nervously, "I didn't mean necessarily to me, although I wouldn't say no!"

"You're a little young for me, sweetie," Acacia told him kindly.

Harold pouted, while Jim had the good grace to laugh. Even Jack looked more relaxed than usual, leaning back on the telegraph table. Acacia leaned on the wall, her high heels killing her already.

"Have a seat," Jack offered, turning the second chair around in an offer.

Once she did, the conversation really began. Eventually Harold retired behind the curtain again, leaving Jim, Acacia and Jack to talk without interruption.

Then Will appeared in the doorway, eyebrow raised. "So this is where you got off to!" he accused Jim, reaching out and manhandling him by the ear, "You do realize you've been gone nearly an hour, right?"

The Sixth Officer went from flinching in pain to wide-eyed at the drop of a hat. "An hour?" he repeated, horrified.

"An hour," Will confirmed. It was only then that he took time to really look at the rest of the wireless room and saw Acacia sitting comfortably. "Well, I guess I can see why you got distracted," he sighed, rolling his eyes heavenward, "Hello, Miss Wood."

"I told you to call me Acacia," she told him, smiling at the familial display, "Really, you'd both best get back to work. Don't want anything to go wrong on the bridge." Not like that'll happen tonight, but I really want to be alone with Jack.

Will grinned and nodded. "Right-o," he agreed, before asking, "Should I have Jim take you back to your room before he gets back to work?"

Despite Jim's pleading eyes, Acacia shook her head. "I'm fine," she said amiably, "I'd really like to talk to Jack some more, since he's shut the key off for once."

"Alright then," Will then turned his attention to Jack and requested, "When you're finished speaking, can you bring Acacia back to her room?" After Jack nodded, he then wished her a good night and dragged Jim away. He hadn't let go of the younger man's ear the whole time, funny enough.

That left Jack and Acacia alone. As much as they both wanted it however, they weren't ready for how sudden it was. They went from looking at the entry to each other, neither sure what to say.

It was then that the telegraph signaled an incoming message.

"Ah, bloody hell," Jack muttered, replacing the headphones on his head. He kept one ear open however, the one closer to Acacia.

While he worked on interpreting the message, she watched with fascination. In high school she had learned Morse code to keep the contents of her journal secret, but to actually use it in a transmission... That was a private dream.

And here was somebody who could help make that happen. Now all she had to do was ask. 'The worst he can do is say no,' Acacia told herself sternly, 'Now just ask!'

Soon enough Jack was taking the headphones off again and focusing back on her.

"Confirmation report that they're sending Ismay's private car to pick him up," Jack scowled at the telegraph machine, "And his brandy shipment is in."

Acacia couldn't help the snort that left her. "Of course he's enough of a drunk that he needs his own shipment," she stated, somewhere between amused and revolted.

"Got that right," Jack mumbled, taking a long deep breath, "Thank god I don't actually work for him. I pity Jim and the others since they do." He rubbed his forehead with the heel of his palm.

The blonde woman pursed her lips, before coming to a decision. She kicked off her heels and circled around Jack so that she stood at his back, before beginning to work at the knots in his shoulders. 'These are some knots,' Acacia thought, applying pressure to the tense spots with her thumbs.

Immediately Jack melted. His eyes closed and he relaxed his posture, making a soft humming sound of contentment. "Mm, feels good," he mumbled.

"That's what I was aiming for," Acacia told him, smiling as she kneaded the tops of his shoulders with her knuckles, "You've got huge knots in your shoulders!"

"Blame work," sighed Jack, leaning into the ministrations. It had probably been a while since he last got his shoulders rubbed, if ever.

"I will," Acacia promised, working down to his shoulder blades and back up. Only when the knots were much less than before did she make herself pull away. She had liked touching Jack Phillips much more than she should have, not a good thing in any way.

Watching him come back to his senses however, made Acacia feel a little better. She wasn't the only one who had enjoyed that.

Catlike, Jack stretched thoroughly with a relaxed smile. "You're very good at that," he complimented, "Mind telling me where you learned?"

"Experience," Acacia shrugged, "Lots and lots of experience." She gave him a secretive little smile.

Jack smirked in return.

It was a struggle for Acacia to keep from showing how that one look affected her. 'When the hell did this happen?' she questioned, beginning to panic. Her heart had seemed to skip a beat, and she knew that she was blushing to the roots of her hair.

"Can you teach me how to use that thing?" Acacia blurted out. It was the first thing she could think of to get out of the little bubble of awkwardness she felt encased in.

Jack gave her a look and gestured to the telegraph machine. "This?" he asked, appearing almost disturbed.

"Mhm," Acacia confirmed, struggling to keep her mind out of the gutter. Nope, the one in your pants.

"You really are a strange woman, Acacia," Jack told her, then gestured for her to come closer, "First, we need to get you familiar with the receiving sounds. Put this side against your ear."  
Feeling like a code breaker, she dragged her chair over and did so. Immediately sounds of dits and dahs could be heard, the difference easily discernable. The message was transmitted slowly, allowing Acacia to understand it easily. It was a general greeting and congratulations from a passing vessel.

When she told that to Jack, he looked impressed. "Very good," he told her with approval, "The message was being sent slowly, but most of them are unless it's a hurry. Now to decide on who you want to send a message to."

"How about one from the big pile you should have already sent," she suggested, pointing to the large stack of papers.

"May as well," Jack agreed, "Now come closer so I can guide you." He moved his chair over so the key was between them on the table.

Acacia closed the space, bumping the arms of their chairs together in the process. "And now?" she asked, biting onto the post of her labret.

"Put your hand on the key and I'll guide the taps," Jack replied, hovering his fingers over the edge of the lever.

Feeling unusually timid, Acacia simply laid her fingers gently on the metal piece. He set his hand on hers and it felt like an electric shock coursed through her at the touch. Subtly, she shivered.

Jack guided her fingertips into a pattern of pressing and releasing the lever. After a time, he said, "That was the address. Now for the actual message." Again he went about tapping away, intensely focused on the message.

Meanwhile, Acacia was wrapped up in the feeling of his hand on hers. It wasn't really rough, soft, smooth or particularly large, but solid and warm all the same. There were callouses on the second phalanges of his fingertips from the edge of the key, a testament to his profession. Somehow, just that little bit of contact made her feel safer than she had since she set foot on the Titanic II.

"And now we're done," Jack said softly, ceasing the tapping, "Did you get what was happening?"

Acacia nodded, breathless. "Morse code," she stated, swallowing, "I could feel the difference between the lines and dashes, but not which one was which."

Jack smiled. "Precisely," he told her softly, "Let's try again." He then took another message off the top of the pile and set it down in front of them.

Seeing the contents of the message made it all clear for Acacia. Her mind easily remembered how the letters translated to dots and dashes, and once she figured out which tap was which... She barely noticed when Jack's hand stopped guiding hers.

When she looked up, he had a look of wonder on his face. "You are amazing," he said, pride shining in his voice.

"My hand just moved on its own," Lil replied easily.

"All the more reason for me to say," Jack murmured. His face was coming in a little closer, dark eyes burning into hers.

"Look who's talking," Lil whispered. She moved the rest of the distance, touching her lips to his.

If she thought that there was electricity from their hands, there was no word for the shock from that kiss. The simple, sweet brush of their lips sent fire raging from her head the whole way to the tips of her toes and suddenly she was aware of everything about him. The smell of his aftershave, his fingers now threaded through hers, the gentle pressure of his mouth on hers; every detail came through crystal clear while the rest of the world faded out of existence.

It was all too soon that they pulled apart.

Jack's eyes were half-lidded and his pupils shone huge against the warm chocolate of his irises, classic signs of desire. His fingers were still threaded with hers, and they had only pulled apart an inch or two. Acacia could feel his breath against her lips. It smelled like tobacco and something sweet.

"Was that too fast?" she asked, praying he would say no.

It seemed that the gods were listening that day; Jack's response was to kiss her again.  
This time, there was very little of anything innocent in it. His lips opened and Acacia automatically matched him, sliding her tongue against his. As a rule she disliked tobacco, coffee and mint tastes; Jack Phillips was the exception to this rule.

They could have been kissing for thirty seconds or thirty minutes, when a throat clearing broke them out of their little world. Reluctantly Acacia pulled back, only to realize that somewhere their hands had gotten tangled in each others' hair. "Err, uh, um," she stuttered, smoothing back the hair that she had displaced.

"Looks like I'm out of the running then," Harold joked, grinning at them, "You'd better go somewhere more private with that, though, if you don't want someone walking in on you."  
"Like you already did?" retorted Jack, sporting a scowl.

"Or like Ismay is about to," Harold pointed out, gesturing to the doorway.

Jack and Acacia's heads swiveled so swiftly that they cricked. Sure enough, Acacia saw with horror, Ismay was right in the hallway. Luckily he had been held up by Jim however, who kept speaking despite the look of pain on his face.

"Hide!" hissed Jack, eyes wide with alarm.

Acacia didn't have to be told twice; she practically dove behind the curtain. As she landed on the bottom bunk, she realized she was just in time too. It wasn't two seconds before she heard Ismay's voice from near the door of the wireless room.

"Send this out immediately," Ismay ordered, "It's urgent."

"Yes sir," Jack said complacently, probably putting the message right in front of him like he would send it out that second. Knowing him, he would most likely put it on the bottom of the stack when Ismay was gone.

There was silence for a moment, and Acacia held her breath. 'Please go away,' she willed Ismay, 'Go away, go away, go away and close the door behind you while you're at it. Please, please, please...'

"Have either of you seen Miss Wood?" Ismay demanded of the wireless operators, sneering the 'Miss' in apparent disgust, "Someone said they saw her be led into the bridge."

Of course, Jack was calm under pressure. "No sir," he lied flatly, "She must have not come back this way."

Acacia smiled where she laid on the bottom bunk. 'Thank the gods for Jack,' she thought, trying to keep her mind off her gradually numbing arm. She had landed awkwardly on top of it.

A quiet sigh was let out. "Well if you do see her before I do, tell her that Mr. Hockley is looking for her," Ismay ordered. Then he left, from the sound of his footsteps.

Behind the curtain, Acacia paled. It couldn't be eleven yet, could it?

"He's gone," called Jack quietly.

Acacia shifted so that she was sitting on the edge of the bed instead of sprawled across it. Reluctantly she left the relative safety of the wireless operators' small alcove, covering up her inner turmoil as best she could. "I wonder why he's looking for me..." she pondered out loud for show, looking at the clock. It was quarter till eleven.

"Whatever it is, it doesn't sound good," offered Harold where he leaned on the door frame, "If you want, you could stick around a while. I'm sure the officers won't mind."

It was a tempting thought. The image of Victoria's face when she heard that she and Jim had been caught overruled it. "They might not, but the captain and Ismay might," Acacia pointed out with a grimace, "I may as well see what he wants so I can properly reject him." If only she had that option.

From his seat at the table (where he had just finished tucking Ismay's telegram into the bottom of the pile) Jack snorted. "He won't like that," he warned. With a smooth sweep of his leg he brought Acacia's high heels out from where they had been hidden under the table.

With a sigh, she plopped down on the free chair. "Too bad for him," Acacia said in what she hoped was a resolute tone of voice, "He'd better get used to it from me." She jammed one of her shoes on, imagining it to be Cal's face. Those toes throbbing, she replaced the other more gently.

"As much as I hate to say it... don't do anything too rash," Jack told her quietly, watching with those unfathomable brown eyes, "He's well connected. I don't want anything happening to you." His hand reached out and brushed a piece of hair behind Acacia's ear, his touch lingering just a second too long to be entirely appropriate.

It was impossible to keep all sadness from the smile she gave him. "He has to learn sometime," Acacia returned quietly, all the while thinking, 'You're too late on that one. It already has.' Feeling a little daring, she leaned over and pressed her lips chastely to his.

Before he could do any more than begin to respond, Acacia pulled back. "Don't worry about it," she told him, sapping strength from his touch, "I'll be fine. And I'll be seeing you tomorrow."

She slid to her feet as smoothly as she could, leaving the room with a last smile to Jack and a pat on Harold's shoulder.

Rather than go out how she came in and risk being seen, Acacia searched her memory of the deck plans she had obsessed over for years. If she recalled correctly, she could turn right once out of the room... The next door on her right she opened, which led to a short corridor. Feeling that she was going the right way, Acacia dragged her feet through the hall until she reached the door at the end of the hall.

Through it was the top floor of the first class staircase. It was an unwelcome sight at the moment, as it meant she was that much closer to... Acacia shoved it out of her mind. If she dwelt on it, she would change her mind and run back to the Marconi room.

Steeling herself, she stiffly made her way down the staircase. Before Acacia knew it, she was on B deck and hell was a mere minute away. It took more energy than she cared to acknowledge to walk through the baized doors with her head held up. Two doors down on the right was the one she was looking for and dreading.

With a deep breath, Acacia raised her hand. The image of Victoria's fearful gaze and Jim's happy grin was behind her eyelids when she closed her eyes to gather her strength. 'For them,' she resolved gathering all her courage.

Acacia knocked.

* * *

-EOC-

The beginning of the next chapter will be the reason behind the M rating, so be warned!  
Remember to review and tell me how I'm doing!

-Thrae


	7. In Which the Secret Is Out

WARNING: This is the chapter that the M rating is for. In it, there is intercourse and consent is questionable for Acacia. If this offends you, skip around half-way down the first section and you should be fine.

Disclaimer: I own nothing under copyright. For the full disclaimer, see the prologue.

* * *

**In Which the Secret Is Out**

_"I believe that everything happens for a reason. People change so that you can learn to let go, things go wrong so that you appreciate them when they're right, you believe lies so you eventually learn to trust no one but yourself, and sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together."_

_-Marilyn Monroe_

The door was quick to swing open. "Right on time, Miss Wood," Cal breathed, his eyes sweeping her body greedily.

She raised her chin stubbornly, her eyes narrowed. "Aren't you going to let me in?" Acacia asked bluntly, wanting nothing more than to get this done and over with.

"Eager little minx, aren't you?" Cal chuckled, checking the hallway for witnesses. When there were none, he stood aside and gestured for her to come in.

Although she entered the bedroom with all the grace she could manage, Acacia didn't dignify him with a response. Instead, she analyzed the room. It was lavish and almost tacky with how sumptuous the furnishings were, a large bed against one wall and a sofa, second smaller bed, dressing table and coffee table filling the rest of the room. In horror at what she was about to do, Acacia's eyes lingered on the bed of their own accord.

'Think Roald Dahl,' she told herself, taking deep breath to try to calm herself. The door clicked closed, sending a shiver down her spine. Closing her eyes tightly, she repeated to herself, 'Think Roald Dahl. He was screwed from one end of the room to the other for three goddamned nights before he was begging for mercy. If he could do that, I can do this-'

A pair of lips on her neck made her jump. "Stop being so afraid," Cal chuckled lowly into her ear, "I'm not going to brutalize you." His hands circled her wrists easily and slid up until he had to lay them flat against her arms, still going up, up, up, until they rested heavily on her shoulders.

Gooseflesh erupted on Acacia's arms. "Please rethink this," she whispered, blinking tears back stubbornly.

"Oh, I've tried," Cal told her, his lips touching the rim of her ear as he spoke, "But there's something to be said about playing with fire. Even better, I know I won't be burned." His hands crept down her back and began loosening the partial corset of her dress.

It felt like a hood being put over her head when her dress fell loose around her. When Cal placed a hand against her neck, the curve of his palm covering almost half-way around it, Acacia barely kept her tears in check. At his command to look at him, she chose to merely look over her shoulder.

The lust in his eyes burned hot as they roamed her face. The only warning was his fingers clenching part-way around her throat and suddenly his mouth was on hers. It was hard and demanding, unable to be called a kiss as he pried her lips apart.

When his tongue tangled with hers, Acacia felt her control over her emotions slip. A tear dripped down her cheek as she screwed her eyes shut. This was a mockery of what she had so enjoyed less than an hour ago with a man who couldn't be more different than this twisted bastard.

'How am I going to survive going the whole way when it feels like I'm betraying him already?' Acacia wondered, beginning to respond tentatively. It made her want to puke.

When Cal bit down hard on her lip, trapping it and her labret behind her tongue, Acacia's eyes shot open again. Panic welled up at the thought that he would pull it out. Blood rushed through her veins and she let out a pleading whimper, begging him not to.

He bit down harder before releasing it. "Don't just stand there," he snapped, frowning.

Acacia closed her eyes again and swallowed. Systematically she emptied herself of everything, leaving herself in a state comparable to being in shock. There was no emotion left when she opened them: no wants, no inhibitions, nothing to indicate that she did or didn't want what was about to happen.

The numbness didn't fade as she stood on her toes to lick and nibble her way up and Cal's throat. It stayed when Acacia unbuttoned his shirt. If possible, it got even more intense when her dress was lifted off of her and thrown onto the floor.

When Acacia was pushed back onto the bed, she knew she would have to come up with some way of fooling her body. If she didn't seem like she was enjoying this, it would just piss him off and that was the last thing she wanted. Forcibly, she brought up an image of her ex-boyfriend.

For every red mark that Cal left on her, Mason left a love bite. Every time his body brushed up against hers, Acacia imagined one that was taller and not quite as lean. But when suddenly he was inside her, it was brown eyes- dark hair- a pale face- deep pink lips caressing her skin like one of his cigarettes.

Every sensation was five times more intense. Soft little gasps and moans left Acacia's lips as she thrust her hips in rhythm with his, deluding herself more with every passing second. It wasn't Cal on top of her anymore, panting raggedly, it was Jack.

Jack's lips on her breast, Jack's fingernails digging into her hips, Jack hitting that perfect spot inside her-

Everything went white. Acacia's body trembled and she felt her insides clench hard around him, milking his seed, while she bit her lip until it bled struggling to not scream at the top of her lungs-

It was Cal who was withdrawing his softened member from her. His bodily fluids combined with hers trickled from between Lil's parted thighs, glistening in the light from the lamps. It felt like coming out of an airplane and being hit with the realization that she was really somewhere else now.

"Come back tomorrow at the same time," Cal demanded, getting off the bed to pull on a pair of pajama pants. He tossed Acacia's dress at her before he pulled on a robe. All the while he would glance at the young woman in his bed, his eyes amused at her befuddlement.

Silently, Acacia put her clothing back on and fixed her hair in the messy bun again. Within five minutes, it looked like nothing had even happened.

"Acacia," Cal called when she reached out for the door.

Like a marionette on his strings, she turned to look at him.

"Don't tell anyone. You know only half of what will happen if you do," Cal threatened casually, picking up a pack of cigarettes. He set it and a box of matches in his robe pocket, obviously preparing to go out for an after sex smoke.

Acacia nodded mutely. Without any further words, she left the room.

Less than five minutes later, she opened the door to her stateroom a deck down. The room was empty, so Acacia pulled a nightgown from the closet and slipped into the private bathroom. The thought struck her hazy mind to wonder where Victoria was, but it was brushed off in short order.

'She'd probably out canoodling with Jim,' Acacia thought, sliding into the tub once it was full.  
Unexpectedly, out of nowhere, she broke. Even as she washed the evidence from her sore body, Acacia sobbed with abandon for the first time since her mother died. She scrubbed furiously at her skin, tore at her hair with shampooed and conditioned fingers, found it hard to touch between her legs even to clean there.

While she was no virgin by any means, this was still a first. It was something that never should have happened, wrong on so many levels. While Acacia hadn't vocally or even physically protested, she felt violated on every level possible.

She had been naked in too many ways in that suite. Not only had Cal seen her body, but he was the first person outside her family to see her cry in over a decade. And he still took pleasure from her body.

"I'll never be able to face him again," Acacia whispered, looking down at her body. On the outside, it was clean and fresh. Free of marks, of bodily fluids, of anything that would indicate she should be ashamed.

It should have been bleeding and bruised. It should have had the word "whore", or "harlot" branded on it. There was no way she should have felt pleasure like she had when she was being raped. But was it really rape since she didn't protest?

'It was,' Acacia decided, playing her fingers along where her calf laid on the edge of the tub, 'I asked him to reconsider. I was crying. It was obvious that I didn't want anything to happen. He's the one in the wrong, he could have found something else he wanted instead. I was just trying to get through it however I could.'

No matter how she tried to tell herself it wasn't her fault, guilt settled in her stomach like a stone. In Acacia's mind, she was the worst kind of victim- a willing one. She had entered into their deal of her own accord, knowing what would happen.

Mechanically she got out of the tub, drained it and dressed. When Acacia looked at her big bed in her suite, too much like the one she had opened her legs on earlier that night, she knew the guilt wasn't really from the act itself. That, she could excuse and forgive herself for.

Getting into what had up until then been Victoria's bed, Acacia smiled sadly at the window. What she was most ashamed of was using Jack's face. And enjoying it after that.

* * *

Something was wrong. Or at least, that's what Jack's instincts were screaming at him as he watched Acacia talk to Miss DeWitt-Bukater and a third class passenger.

He was at a rail smoking as usual, bored, when he saw her. Although she was lovely as always in a baby blue dress and her hair fastened up with some sort of stick, something was missing. It took a few more moments of observing before he realized that she was just going through the motions.

There was no enthusiasm in Acacia's movements. The spark that had caught his attention that first day out from Queenstown was almost non-existent, only showing itself when she would smile. In the long moments that he observed the trio, that was only twice.

What had happened to the woman who laughed loudly on deck after insulting Ismay's mustache? Where was the snarling fury he was told had been present just at dinner last night?

It most certainly had something to do with Caledon Hockley. That was the only explanation Jack could come up with. As far as he knew, Hockley was the only person to interact with her between leaving the wireless shack and reaching her suite.

A strange, alarming urge came over him. For once Jack chose to go with it and do something inherently Jim-ish. He was going to walk over there, ask to speak to Acacia, and then get her to admit to whatever had happened so he would have a legitimate reason for killing Hockley and shoving him into a boiler.

His plan formed and functional, Jack stubbed out his cigarette and replaced it in the case. Making sure that everything was in place, he strode over to the trio and took advantage in a conversational lull to ask, "Excuse me, Miss Wood?"

She looked up, but looked over and down at the deck beside her feet just as quickly. "Yes, Mr. Phillips?" Acacia mumbled.

Jack frowned slightly. "Might I have a word with you?" he requested. Upon seeing the looks Miss DeWitt-Bukater and the young man were giving him, he added, "It won't take very long, perhaps five minutes."

Obviously, Acacia was reluctant as she gestured for him to lead the way.

It was impossible to not feel her tense up when he took her arm in his. In a move that not even he expected, Jack brought her inside through the door that was between Jim and Harry's cabins and to Marconi room. Once inside he locked the door and leaned back on it.

"What do you want, Jack?" asked Acacia tiredly, closing her eyes briefly. Her face scrunched up and she opened her eyes again, giving the appearance of a trapped animal.

"I want to know what's happened," Jack told her, frowning deeply, "You're pale, you look like you haven't slept, and you're not acting like yourself at all. What's wrong?"

There was no snappy comeback. Just a deprecating chuckle of, "You say that like you actually know me."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "I would think I know you quite well, Acacia," he retorted in a low voice, though the edge in it was unmistakable, "You're intelligent, you're confident, you've never given a rip about anyone's opinion but your cousin's, and this isn't you. Something happened last night when you were with Hockley, didn't it? Something that scared you."

"Then tell me, oh great mind reader, what it is, so we can both move on with our lives!" Acacia hissed, looking for all the world like an angry cat. It was almost difficult to see how afraid she was.

Instead of answering verbally, Jack took the three steps across the room to stand directly in front of her. He raised a hand intending to cup her cheek.

She flinched away.

There are no words for the fury that welled up in the normally docile wireless operator. "I'm going to kill him," Jack stated with the same tone that one would say the sun rose that morning. In his mind it was a fact that Caledon Hockley would be dead by sundown.

On the outside he was completely calm. Face impassive if a little cold, the only indication that Jack was out for murder was that his hands were shaking as he tried to unlock the door.

"Please don't," a pitiful, cracked version of Acacia's voice whimpered.

Jack stopped in his tracks, leaning his forehead against the door. "I can't let him get away with this," he ground out. Why didn't she understand? Was it a woman thing to think that this was acceptable behavior from a man?

"I- It wasn't like you think," Acacia explained, fear and guilt in her voice, "I didn't protest- not after I asked him to reconsider- but he went on ahead anyway and oh god, I'm so sorry and I don't even know what I'm apologizing for because I just want to protect them and I know you don't want me anymore anyways after knowing what you do since I'm ruined goods-"

Little pieces that hadn't seemed important or to have a place in the bigger picture came together and Jack saw red. "Are you telling me that that son of a bitch blackmailed and raped you?" he breathed, danger in every syllable. His whole body was trembling with the effort of keeping himself from storming out to tear the beast limb from limb.

In a whisper, Acacia answered, "I didn't protest."

All the fight left Jack and he slumped against the door. "Tell me," he ordered hollowly, "Tell me everything."

Acacia did. She didn't leave anything out from the moment that Vic and Jim met until the current moment, from the looks Hockley threw over the dining table at her (which Will had mentioned off-handedly in the mess hall) to him seeing the young lovers caught up in each other on deck. Yesterday's conversation finally made sense to Jack, and in a way he wished it still didn't.

Silence laid in the Marconi room, heavy and tense.

"Say something," Acacia breathed.

It was difficult to decide what to say first. Bitterness was clogging up Jack's throat, leaving him unable to say what was on his mind. All he could do was clench his hands on the door frame and swallow.

"I... I'll go then," Acacia whispered.

"No!" the words burst out of Jack's mouth in a sudden rush, "I don't blame you, it's... I don't know what to say. I hate this, I hate what you're doing, but I understand it- I want to help but I don't know how and I hate it so much!" Squeezing his eyes shut, he slammed his hand down on the wall. The pain helped him center himself, but it wasn't nearly enough to drive away the burning in his chest.

A small hand laid tentatively on his shoulder. "I do too," Acacia told him softly, "It'll just be until we get off the ship and then I'll be rid of him. Just another few nights..." She sounded as though she was trying just as hard to convince herself as him.

Jack turned around and this time more slowly and deliberately placed his hand on her cheek.

This time, she didn't flinch. Instead Acacia smiled weakly at him and cradled his hand against her skin.

As Jack touched his forehead to hers, he knew. It had been obvious from the beginning that some sort of feelings would come out of their relationship. But now, as they stood in the cramped wireless shack aboard the "ship of dreams", he knew.

John George Phillips had fallen irrevocably in love with Acacia Lilith Wood.

* * *

Eros sighed with contentment as he watched his arrows strike true. While their meeting had been thanks to the Fates, Chronos and Hades, he liked to think that this was his own special contribution. Where before there had been fascination, friendship and a spark of lust, love now flourished.

"You know this won't last," commented the god of the underworld, amused. His beard twitched, hinting at a smile as he looked down at the mortal realm below.

With a scowl, Eros faced the other god. "You forget that you gave her some of your powers," he reminded Hades stubbornly, "They might make it."

For a moment Hades didn't respond. When he did, it was only to muse, "I did do that, didn't I?"

This was unbelievable. Did he actually forget he had bestowed his powers upon a mortal? Eros stared at him, mouth agape in sheer disbelief.

Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to Acacia and Jack. Hades needs some serious help.

* * *

It felt liberating to not be alone in the situation anymore. Jim and Victoria didn't know a thing about what was going on and it would stay that way, that much had been agreed. However, Jack and Acacia had disagreed on several things.

Namely, what to do when Harry Lowe and Harold Bride started banging down the door. It hadn't mattered anyway, as they had heard half of their conversation- mainly the shouted parts.

Now there were three other people in on it.

That was the only thought that allowed her to get through the day and night. While Acacia was physically alone, she wasn't the only one to know what was happening. Not to mention that any and all telegraphs Cal would try to send or receive would be scrambled beyond recognition, hopefully into something embarrassing.

This time when Jack's face replaced the beast above her, there was no guilt. He had expressly given her permission to do "whatever she needed to stay sane with that monster, and if that meant using his face then she'd better damn well do that". So she did. For the wee hours of the night and morning, it was Jack with her.

While Cal couldn't be called horrible in bed, he was a very selfish lover. 'Just like in all other aspects of his life,' Acacia thought in one of the few moments of clarity that night. It was a good thing that she had always been very easily satisfied.

When she was inevitably kicked out of Cal's stateroom around two in the morning, she made the most awkward decision of her life. Instead of praying that Vic wasn't in the suite and sneaking down to wash away her sins, Acacia headed up two decks. Through the door beside the grand staircase and then another door, before she turned left, she stopped in front of the only door on the left. The wireless shack.

The door was open and it was Harold on the key, from his lighter hair and slighter build. In a way it was a relief.

Acacia tapped him on the shoulder. It was possibly the most uncomfortable she had ever been, about to ask for her... boyfriend(?)... with someone else's semen about to slide down her thighs. It was disgusting.

On the other hand, Harold gave her a look of surprise. "I thought you'd be washing off right about now," he told her, taking off the clunky headphones.

"Do you have a washroom I can use?" Acacia asked sheepishly, grimacing, "I don't want to risk Vic smelling... this." She gestured to herself with a helpless wave.

After a few seconds, Harold nodded. "I don't think anyone will mind," he decided, leaving the radio unmanned. He brushed past her and turned left, waving for her to follow.

They went around the corner and Harold opened the only door on the right. "The tub is through that door," he pointed to the one farthest right of three she could see, "You look about Jack's size, I'll just nick some of his clothes and set them on the sink for you." He gave her a wink before leaving her to herself.

Once she saw that she was alone in the hall, Acacia entered the bathroom and closed the door behind her. On the other side of the third door, a plain white room contained only a cabinet of towels and a bath tub. It was perfect.

Not even waiting for the tub to completely fill, Acacia slipped into it. The warm water made pleasant chills go down her spine and the nasty feeling of Cal's hands all over her almost went away. Grabbing a washcloth she hoped was someone's who she knew, Lil began the ritual of scrubbing her flesh raw all over again.

The outer door opened, but then it closed again not even a minute after. That must have been Harold.

It was easy to forget that she was somewhere she technically wasn't supposed to be. It was similar enough to her dad's bathroom that Acacia felt right at home, even with the antiquated plumbing. Unfortunately, that said something about his décor.

'When I get back (if I get back) I'm going to redecorate his bathroom,' Acacia resolved serenely after what could have been any length of time.

It must have been a long while, because the door burst open.

Acacia froze, her eyes wide as she slid further into the tub. Not for the first time she missed the twenty-first century- and bubbles in her bathwater.

Somehow, Harry Lowe hadn't even noticed that the tub was already occupied. Bags hung under his eyes nearly the same size as the eyes themselves, signaling that he had probably just gotten off watch. Just as telling, he was stumbling a bit while he hummed and took off his uniform jacket and shirt in one.

Though she was tempted to let him continue, Acacia thought it best to not embarrass him too badly. "Um, Harry?" she squeaked, trying to not laugh.

In the middle of taking off his undershirt, he froze. Slowly he turned his gaze over the room until he reached the tub and the woman inside it.

For a moment they simply stared at each other in horror. Or at least that was what Harry was doing. Acacia, on the other hand, was having trouble not ogling. After all, he was a fine piece of Welshman with a defined torso half-showing.

"Ah!" Harry finally shouted, backing out of the room, "My god, I'm so sorry! I'll come back later!" He slammed the door behind him, leaving the most awkward silence that Acacia had ever experienced when alone.

"I guess it's time for me to get out," she sighed to herself, a strange little half-smile, half-smirk in place. She climbed carefully out of the bathtub and set it to drain, all the while wondering just how embarrassed Harry really was.

'Well, he is engaged,' Acacia reminded herself, wrapping a towel around her body. Luckily it was one of the bigger ones that actually covered everything, though only down to her upper thighs.

It wasn't really needed however, as when she came into the washroom, she saw that Harry had his face in a corner and was muttering to himself. Nearly silently Acacia crept over to the sink and grabbed the neatly folded uniform, then closed herself back inside the bathroom to dress. It was only nearly silent because she couldn't help snickering; the back of Harry's neck was bright red. Was that his version of blushing?

Dressing was close to painless. Actually, it felt great! To be wearing pants again was more than Acacia had hoped for when she woke up on the Titanic, even if she did have to roll them up three times so they wouldn't drag on the floor. The shirt was the same, covering her hands completely until she shoved them up past her elbows.

"It's a little tight across the chest!" Remembering Gimli's quote from the Lord of the Rings made Acacia snicker as she looked down at herself. Yes, yes it was, though not enough to scandalize.

'Not that poor Harry needs any more of that,' she thought, gathering her dress and underwear into her arms.

"I promise I'm decent," Acacia offered when she opened the door.

Unfortunately, Harry's work shirt and jacket were back on. "Erm, I'm very sorry about barging in on you, Miss Wood," he apologized in a mumble, eyes trained firmly on his feet.

"Don't worry about it," Acacia dismissed him casually, amused, "You didn't know. It's not like I'm technically allowed to be in here anyway." It was curious that Harry had managed to forget about that rule.

Obviously, he wondered the same thing as he finally looked up. "What are you doing in here?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

Wrinkling her nose in disgust, Acacia replied, "Washing the evidence away before I risked running into Victoria."

Understanding, Harry nodded. "Best get out of here before Wilde possibly tries to come in," he suggested.

It was a thought of unparalleled horror. With a mental shudder at what would be assumed, Lil nodded. "Bye," she told him, slipping out of the washroom.

Again heading to the Marconi room, she slipped in without incident. "Thanks for nicking-" Acacia began, before realizing they weren't alone, "Oh. Um, hi Jack."

The dark-haired man eyed her with evident amusement. "Are those my clothes?" he asked rhetorically.

"Err, we'd hoped you wouldn't mind," Harold put in from in front of the telegraph machine.

Jack smirked. "No, I don't," he agreed, "They look better on you anyway, Acacia."

She gave him a look of disdain. That was a lie if she had ever heard one. "Yeah right," Acacia snorted, "I think I'm going to bed now. I'll return your clothes tomorrow."

With a half-smile at the wireless operators, she slid out. Upon hearing Jack's voice though, Acacia stopped to listen a minute. And froze. Did Jack just say what she thought...?

"Harold won't mind," the senior wireless operator said, "So... stay the night."

As her ears weren't mistaken, Acacia turned back around. "You don't mind?" she asked Harold, wanting to make sure.

The younger man shrugged. "Don't make too much noise," he warned them, "Or I'll sick Will on you."

It was absurd that Acacia was even thinking of doing this. Didn't she have enough scandal on her hands already? One glance at Jack (who was doing an amazing job at hiding his nervousness) decided for her. "Alright," she agreed, "Show me where."

"Do you roll at all?" Jack asked, gesturing for her to follow her to the other side of the curtain.

"I'm a cuddler," mumbled Acacia, her cheeks flaming.

On the other hand, Jack didn't seem to mind the thought. "I'll live," he chuckled shortly, rolling onto the bottom bunk.

Only then did Acacia notice he had been in his long johns the whole time. Regular white underclothing, very conservative compared to what men wore in the twenty-first century, but on him it managed to be appealing. The tight legs of the pants emphasized his strong calves and thighs, while the looser shirt managed to not disguise the long lines of his torso or broad shoulders. A sliver of defined collarbone peeked out from the neckline, drawing Acacia's eye like a magnet.

With a mischievous smile she crawled onto the tiny bunk with him. "Those should be illegal," she whispered, looking down at his nightclothes pointedly.

The look on his face made Acacia giggle like mad. "What?" he asked, obviously confused.

"I meant that you look good enough to eat," she explained with a flirtatious wink, "I'm not usually a big fan of long johns, but on you, they're something else entirely." Where she got this confidence boost from, she would probably never know.

"Alright, alright," Jack laughed quietly, eyes sparkling in the diffused light from the other side of the curtain, "I know how you feel now, enough is enough from both of us. We both need some sleep."

The nerves came back. "Promise you'll try to keep your hands to yourself?" Acacia whispered, settling under the covers on her stomach.

"Aye," Jack agreed, "Good night."

"Sweet dreams," Acacia returned.

Despite having known him for only a few days, she slipped into dreamland easily.

* * *

On his cloud, Eros glimmered radiantly. "Now that's what I'm talking about!" he crowed, doing a little dance.

This was getting better and better! That they were both usually creatures of reason hadn't hit either of them upside the head yet, they were so caught up. And if Eros had his way, it would be long enough until then that once they did come back to their senses, there would be no point in trying to be logical about it.

Now if only the White Star Line hadn't pissed off Poseidon so much... Perhaps Eros would have left them there. Acacia and Victoria had never really felt in tune with the world around them, like they weren't meant for the time they were born into.

As it was, he was scrabbling with Hades over them. Of course, the god of the dead wanted his due, not to mention that having managed to forget giving some of his powers away was embarrassing as all Tartarus... He wanted them back.

Looking at the pair laying in the bunk together and the more reserved pair in their own rooms, Eros felt his resolve harden. If he had to, he would fight tooth and nail for the four of them to survive!

Now just to find a way for that to happen...

* * *

-EOC-

Hope that scene was up to standard... I'm a little nervous about it being up here at all, honestly.

Tell me how I did with everything!

-Thrae


	8. In Which the Last Day Passes

Disclaimer: I own nothing under copyright. See the prologue for the full disclaimer.

* * *

**In Which the Last Day Passes**

_"Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear."_

_-Ambrose Redmoon_

April 14, 1912 dawned crisp and clear. Not that Acacia noticed, or even knew- she was still asleep. That wouldn't be true for long, however...

"Bloody hell!" Harold swore from the other side of the curtain.

The smell of something burning reached Acacia's nose, instantly waking her. "Harold? What's happening?" she called just loudly enough to be heard over his cursing.

"Wireless overheated and broke down again," he replied, most likely scowling at the machine, "Let Jack sleep a few more hours though, it's only seven."

But Acacia was wide awake, remembering exactly what today was... "I'd better go," she said quietly, "Can you check if anyone is in the washroom so I can change back?" It would create gossip to go back to her suite in the same dress she wore last night. But it would be worse to go back in a man's clothing.

"Well, there's the passage that leads to the grand staircase but that's it," Harold replied thoughtfully, "However... You're decent, right?" The shadow he cast against the curtain showed that he had stood.

"Of course," Acacia snorted.

Harold slipped around the curtain and began rummaging in one of the drawers a few feet from the bed. "I have an idea," he said, taking out a navy blue jacket and tie, "Do you think anyone would recognize you with your hair up and a hat on?" He pulled the mentioned hat off of a peg, the thread on the front shining with the Marconi logo.

"You're mad," Acacia whispered, her lips slowly spreading into a wide grin, "You're an absolute nutter, I think it might work!" All she had to do was keep to herself and duck her head, and no one would probably recognize her. After all, how many women did you see in men's clothing in 1912?

Though she hated leaving Jack, it was necessary. After all, if she were stuck in 1912 (and survived the sinking) it wouldn't do to be seen in a bad light. People are boycotted and go into debt that way.

Acacia turned partially over to stroke the side of Jack's face. "I love you," she breathed, barely loud enough for her to hear herself. With a kiss to his cheek she wriggled away, as they had somehow managed to wind themselves about each other in the morning.

Once up, she struggled with the tie until Harold took pity and knotted it about her neck for her. "I never did get the hang of that," Acacia told him sheepishly, watching his fingers nimbly wind the fabric.

"It took me a while too," Harold confided quietly.

One the tie was in place, she wound her hair up and covered it with the cap then slid the jacket on. "How do I look?" Acacia asked, holding her arms out.

"Like a proper Marconi officer," Harold confirmed approvingly, "I'll just lead you out the staff passage and no one will ever know." He winked cheekily at her, obviously enjoying their in-joke.

"I know where it is," Acacia smiled, giving him a short hug, "I'll bring his clothes back in an hour or so." If she didn't fall back asleep once she got in. If she did, she was sure Jack would forgive her.

Harold handed her her bundled up dress and waved her out.

Going through the crew passages was more interesting this time, as the occupants were awake. Mainly they just passed by with a nod, which Acacia would return, though a few gave her an odd look. Being stewards however, they seemed to not feel it was their place to question.

Slipping through the first class areas was even easier. As she was wearing a crewman's uniform, the passengers didn't bother to "honor" her with their recognition. It certainly made it easy to slip down to C deck.

As she walked through the corridors, Acacia wondered at what she had whispered to Jack. "I love you." It was a strange thought; another fear she had dealt with for years, falling in love. Ever since Tony...

But Jack was nothing like him. Not in personality, mannerisms, or even looks. He was quiet, intense, protective, and the last thing he would ever do was fake her out. Of this, Acacia was completely sure.

It was terrifying to trust someone that much. To be able to hand over her heart within a week of knowing him (not counting the seventeen year long crush) was just as scary as the Titanic sinking.

'Yet here I am,' Acacia thought grimly, trailing her fingertips against the wall.

Once at her door, she unlocked and slipped through it easily. Leaning against the wall, Acacia took a deep sigh of relief. That was one experience she looked to never repeat if she could help it.

"Who are you and what are you doing in my room?!" Victoria shrieked.

A vase very nearly hit Acacia in the face. "What the bloody hell, Vic?!" she shouted back, "It's me, idiot girl!" To prevent more things from possibly hitting her, she threw her hands up over her head.

"Acacia?" Victoria asked, disbelief apparent.

"Yes, me, yeh dingbat," Acacia scowled, dropping her arms. To further emphasize the fact, she took off the hat to let her hair fall around her face.

From where she sat partially under her covers, Victoria laughed. "You look so different in a suit!" she grinned, shaking her head, "Where have you been? I haven't seen you in so long!"

It was a loaded question, though Victoria had no way of knowing. Acacia chose to go the easy way, answering, "Erm, with Jack." Sheepishly she bit her lip, foreseeing the reaction that would bring.

She wasn't disappointed. "Oh. My. God," Victoria giggled, throwing the covers off her legs, "Well come over here and tell me about it!" She forcefully patted the space on the bed beside her in invitation.

"Oh, alright," Acacia laughed, bounding over to dive onto the springy mattress, "What do you want to know?"

They laughed and gossiped until they fell asleep.

* * *

The rest of the day was much the same as any other day, but more so. It was April 14, 1912 and they were on the Titanic: of course, they were going to enjoy the ship while it was still atop the Atlantic Ocean!

The morning and afternoon were spent getting lost every which way, winding up everywhere but where they belonged. The pool, the squash court, the third class general room, the second class library, Victoria and Acacia went everywhere they could find. At one point they even ended up in the engine room, but were quickly escorted out by a mustached older man.

Finally, nearing dinner time they sneaked up to the crew quarters in the bridge. It was easy to find Bride, who was on duty furiously tapping out backlogged messages. On the other hand, Jack was in casual clothing and chatting with a similarly dressed Jim, Harry and Will.

"Well aren't you all daring," Victoria joked, winding her arm around Jim's, "What's the occasion?"

His adoring look down at Victoria almost made Acacia melt. They were a real fairy tale, if a little unorthodox.

"We were heading to third class. They really know how to throw a party," answered Harry, grinning from where he leaned on the wall. Even then, he towered over everyone else in the room.

"I figured you two would come back up here soon, so we decided to wait," Jack added from where he was pulling his sleeves up past the elbow.

Will looked a little nervous. "I told them that you wouldn't want to come," he tried to repair the situation, not realizing that it didn't need to be.

Victoria and Acacia exchanged amused looks. "You don't know us at all, do you?" the elder woman asked the First Officer rhetorically, shaking her head, "Of course we want to come! We wouldn't miss out on this for the world!" She mainly just wanted to meet Tommy Ryan and Cora Cartmell.

While Will looked surprised, the other men laughed. "Alright, alright, I misjudged you, lassie," he admitted once the commotion died down, "Give me the honor of escorting you down in repayment?" He held out an arm expectantly, his eyes sparkling.

Acacia looked to Jack quickly. When he nodded, she took the offered arm. "I think that can be arranged," she agreed, putting on her snootiest voice for the occasion.

"We're going to have to sneak down, the captain doesn't approve of much socialization with passengers," Harry told them, a glimmer in his eyes like a mischievous schoolboy.

"Is there any way we can change into something less fancy?" Victoria requested, pulling at her dress skirt pointedly.

Harry nodded, though he then put a finger to his lips. "Sh," he hissed, waving for them to follow him.

It felt a great deal like the days in high school when Acacia would cut class. Keeping her giggles locked up at the comparison was exceedingly difficult, especially when they sneaked out the door between Harry and Jim's rooms. Practically tiptoeing down the deck was even more hilarious for some reason.

When they finally reached amidships and began acting normally again, Acacia couldn't help it: she snickered, loudly. "What the hell was that?" she asked, amused, as they entered a vestibule separated from the rest of the structures on the boat deck.

"That was us not getting caught, my dear," Will told her happily, bowing her through the door.

From the photos in Titanic: An Illustrated History, Acacia easily recognized the second class staircase. "How far down do we go?" she asked, nervousness creeping into her voice. The setting sun was making her nervous about being so far down in the ship.

"Just to C for you to change," Jack told her, going down first.

'It's just to C,' Acacia told herself, following. To distract herself she analyzed the rather homey style of their surroundings. The stairs and rail were oak, and on the landings were flat-woven runners with matching upholstered benches nearby.

On C deck they exited to the second class promenade deck, then went through a glass-topped door into the familiar first class corridors. Straight down the hallway on the right, Acacia could see the aft first class staircase.

The slight blurriness of it made her blink harshly. "I think I need glasses," she muttered to herself, rubbing her eyes.

"Oh really?" asked Jack, who had sidled up beside her as they all began to walk up the corridor.

"Yeah, the staircase is all blurry," Acacia replied, squinting ahead. It didn't get any better.

There was no response to that. Apparently they were from the school of thinking where if an unpleasant thought couldn't be denied, a response shouldn't be given. Hopefully that would go away by midnight that night.

It took an absurdly long amount of time, but they ran into no one on their way to the suite. "You can wait in the sitting room," Victoria said, ushering them in, "We'll be quick."

Once the men were in there, the ladies entered their own room. "Is there anything simpler in the wardrobe?" Acacia asked, opening the wardrobe room door.

"There had better be," growled Victoria, "I am not going to pull a Rose!" Of course, she meant the incident last night where Rose went down to the third class general room in full first class regalia. But then again, as she was Rose DeWitt-Bukater and invited by a third class passenger, she could get away with it.

In the bottom drawer of Acacia's dresser, she found something rather disturbing... "Vic," she called distantly, staring at her findings, "Check your bottom drawer."

Upon Victoria doing so, there was silence. Obviously, she had found something similar.

The material was smooth against Acacia's fingertips as she pulled it out, oddly synthetic compared to what she had been wearing the past few days. When she fully unloaded the drawer, she found what looked like three outfits, a large ziploc bag and a weird holster type thing. There was a black turtleneck shirt with long sleeves and a close fitting pair of pants made of the same material; it was easy to recognize as thermal clothing. The second outfit was a red turtleneck and khaki capris, while the third was a pair of close-fitting black pants and a tightly knit long-sleeved purple top. A pair of black socks, two of ballet flats, a black beanie, a cute purple boyshort and a matching bra completed the set.

Curiosity drove Acacia to find out what the holster was for. There were a set of straps that all buckled together in a square shape that looked like it would fit the ziploc bag. What she would put in there, she wasn't quite sure, so she moved on.

In one pocket on the opposite side was a weird chunk of metal shaped like a handle that mystified her until she pressed a button on the end of it. A blade startled Acacia when it popped out, only three inches long but glimmering wickedly in the partial light. Quickly she pressed the blade back in and returned it to its pocket, marveling at the weapon. Automatic opening knives were illegal in the States in her time, so she had never laid eyes on one before, never mind held one.

In the next pocket were a ring of keys, a granola bar, a tube of chapstick and a small flask of water. The contents of the last pocket made Acacia laugh. It was her "family necklace", which she had thought was perfectly safe on the Titanic II. On the silver chain was a diamond heart pendant with three rings dangling around it: her mom and biological father's wedding bands and her maternal family engagement ring.

It wasn't a hard decision to take off the emeralds in her ears and around her throat in favor of the heirlooms. Suddenly focused, Acacia stuffed the third outfit, underthings, socks, beanie, and one of the pairs of ballet flats in the plastic bag. Before she closed it, she had a spurt of genius and tossed in four of the five stacks of twenty-dollar bills she had found the day before.

True to her thoughts, the bag fit perfectly in the straps. "Thank you, Eros," Acacia whispered as she buckled them, "Or whoever put this all here." For all she knew, it could have been Athena or Zeus. Certainly not Poseidon though, as he was pissed at the Titanic for existing.

Once she was done, Acacia looked over her shoulder to see that her cousin had done something similar. "I think this was a hint," she sighed, hanging up the other two outfits near the front of the closet.

"We're going to be in the water," Victoria confirmed, sarcasm dripping from her words, "Lucky us."

It certainly seemed that way, so Acacia said nothing to refute it. Instead, she picked out the least dressy of all the clothing she had found, a cape-collared white blouse and deep red twill skirt. There was a little too much lace on the collar and white was far from Acacia's color, but she didn't complain out loud as she changed clothing.

On the other side of the closet, she heard Victoria sigh in relief. "I was afraid for a minute that I was getting used to these corsets," the red-head joked, tossing something heavy (probably the corset) to the side.

It was strange to not have to tie Victoria's shoes for her this time. As Acacia slipped on a set of low-heeled black mary janes, she found herself smiling about the fact. Finally, things were somewhat back to normal.

As always they checked and jokingly deemed each other remarkably grotesque before exiting the wardrobe room. In Victoria's case that couldn't be any less true. She was a pretty little thing in her pale green-patterned calico dress as she replaced her showy gems with a plain silver claddagh pendant.

When they entered the sitting room, they grinned at each other. The officers and sole wireless operator were having far too much fun investigating the lavish room. Or, at least most of them were. Jim was finger-combing his hair in the mirror over the mantle and muttering to himself.

"Having fun?" Acacia asked, amused.

The men all jumped and looked like kids who got caught in the cookie jar. Mostly Jack, as he had been looking inside an expensive looking vase at the time. Why, Acacia wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"You look as lovely as ever," Will complimented smoothly, stepping in to save their manly pride.

"Thank you, you unashamed flatterer," Acacia returned dryly, "So now where to?" She took the offered arm again, with a smile over her shoulder at Jack.

"The third class dining saloon," Harry replied, opening the door. Once he peeked outside, he gestured for everyone to follow him.

Dinner must have started already for first class, as there was still no one in the hall. Acacia found herself grateful for that as they power-walked back to the second class staircase. Once there they slowed down, though for Acacia it was more than a bit.

Actually, she stopped in her tracks on the landing. Now that she was being asked to go that far down into a ship that was soon to crash, Acacia found herself shaking in terror. It couldn't be possible that she could already hear water crashing louder and louder below...

"Acacia, it's alright."

Was that a trembling she felt under her feet, or was that just the engines? Had they struck the iceberg ahead of schedule?

"What's happening?"

"Oh god, another panic attack... Acacia! Snap out of it!"

The voices of her companions didn't even register. Acacia was too busy clutching the rail for dear life as her head got lighter and lighter. Black spots hovered in front of her eyes and she swore she was on the verge of blacking out...

A sharp pain in her cheek caught her off-guard. The sounds of water and feeling of trembling steel vanished, leaving everything perfectly fine if a little blurry. A deep breath and a few blinks later, everything was perfectly normal again.

"I... need to sit down," Acacia whispered, focusing on her breathing instead of the stairs in front of her.

Only when Jack pried her fingers from the balustrade did she realize she had dug her nails deeply into it. Luckily there were no splinters, only some soreness.

It took both Will and Jack to help her to the nearest sofa. Every step was like they were guiding a small child instead of a grown woman, Acacia's legs were so unsteady. By the time she plopped down and covered her face with her hands ashamedly, her whole body felt like jello.

Someone sat on each side of her and a large, warm hand began to rub her back. That was when Acacia realized her entire body was quaking and she tensed up to try to stop. It didn't work in the slightest. "I'm so sorry," she mumbled into her hands, "I didn't mean to seize up like that, I'm such a coward..." Stubbornly she blinked back tears.

"No, no, you're not," Victoria shushed her, beginning to stroke her hair, "You just aren't ready to go lower yet. You're so brave for even being on here..." Other than her gentle words, the room was nearly silent.

When she was sure she wouldn't start crying, Acacia reluctantly pulled her head from her hands. "I can't go down there," she told them all with a gulp, "There's no way you're getting me down to F deck." It was a good thing the general room was on C deck.

The men all looked at each other, obviously wondering what to do.

"You go on, I'll wait in the general room," Acacia told them, trying to smile cheerfully, "I'm not very hungry anyway." Her insides were too tied up in knots to eat.

Just as Will opened his mouth (probably to volunteer to stay), his stomach began to complain loudly. He closed his lips, ears going a little red.

"I'll stay," Jack said from Acacia's right, his hand still rubbing her back, "I'm still full from lunch. You all go on and we'll meet you in an hour."

Reluctantly, the four others disappeared down the staircase. Acacia had closed her eyes to keep her imagination under control, but she still heard their steps and low voices echoing. Only when all was near silent around them did she face the world again.

"You're afraid of ships then?" asked Jack, now stroking down her spine firmly.

With a bitter laugh, Acacia nodded. "I'm such a wierdo... I'm perfectly fine jumping off a cliff with only a bungee cord keeping me from going splat, but I'm afraid of going too far down in a ship!" she burst out, frustrated with herself, "What's wrong with me!" Violently she slammed her fist into her thigh, though she was careful to not put too much force into the hit.

"Nothing," Jack replied, taking her fist and moving it to his knee, "Everyone has their fears. For one, I'm afraid of sharks. Don't get too far down on yourself. You'll get past it when you really need to." He was terribly confident in what he said. It was all in the tone of his voice and the shine in his eyes.

"You have more faith in me than I do," Acacia stated dryly. The fear and frustration were slowly draining from her with every stroke down her spine and the back of her hand.

For a while they sat in silence. The room was quiet and empty around them, the air warm and comfortable. It would be very easy to go to sleep, Acacia thought, blinking rapidly to keep her eyes open.

Before she could come up with a topic to keep herself from dozing off, Jack spoke. "I heard you this morning," he told her quietly.

If it weren't for the sudden heat in her face, Acacia would have thought she went pale. As it was, her stomach swooped somewhere into the region of her pelvis. "If I would have known you were awake-" she began to bluster.

"Then you wouldn't have said it, I know," he finished wryly, "But did you mean it?"

It took a moment for Acacia to figure out what he meant. It struck her only after she wracked her brain: he had been awake when she said she loved him! "Why did you pretend to still be asleep?" she scowled, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I asked first," Jack pointed out.

Acacia glared at him, willing a hole to appear in the middle of Jack's forehead from the heat. When nothing of the sort happened, she turned her gaze downward to her knees. "If I didn't mean it, I wouldn't have said it," she sighed, "There, now you can go ahead and reject me outright instead of just pretending to be asleep. I'm a big girl, I can take it."

There was silence from her right. For a long while nothing happened, up to and including Jack getting up to leave. Getting up her courage, Acacia peeked up at him.

The expression on Jack's face could best be described as "dumbfounded". He was staring unblinkingly and disbelievingly at her, his lips slightly parted in an "O" of surprise. "You can't be serious," he muttered.

Before Acacia could confirm that yes she was serious, goddammit, all thought was wiped from her mind. It was impossible. It couldn't be happening. Yet that same shock had gone from her lips straight down to her toes as the last time Jack kissed her.

"I was only pretending to be asleep so that Harold wouldn't make me take my shift. If I had my way, I would have answered," Jack explained hoarsely when they separated. His breath tickled her lips as he spoke, they were still so close.

"And the answer?" asked Acacia breathlessly.

Jack smiled and with his thumb stroked her jaw. "I love you more," he whispered before dipping in for another kiss.

Simple, unadulterated joy filtered through every part of her being even before her mind processed what had been said. 'He loves me,' Acacia realized, beginning to respond, 'He loves me!' The mere thought sent a rush of warmth through her chest as she kissed him back enthusiastically.

When they broke apart for air, Acacia knew she was grinning goofily. "Wow," she mused, fighting the urge to giggle, "Just... wow. I can't believe this was actually happening." That was the understatement of the century. Her first crush, the man she had admired and felt an affinity toward for seventeen years, actually returned the feelings she had grown since they met merely days ago. Things like that just don't happen and yet it was happening right then and there!

"I can't either," Jack laughed, his eyes sparkling brightly.

They spent probably an hour kissing right there on the bench right by the second class staircase. Not many people used it that high up and even less noticed them, though no one said anything. One older woman smiled knowingly as she passed, however, which made Acacia smile even brighter. Aside of the last twenty minutes and first two hours, today had been and would be the best day ever!

When they heard Jim loudly complaining about being embarrassed, they reluctantly separated. "What, did they tell Victoria about you mooning half the harbor three years ago?" Jack asked dryly once the officers and mentioned woman were in sight.

It rather amazed Acacia that he could remember such a thing for so long. Then again, this was the Edwardian era. 'How did I never hear about this?' she wondered, watching Jim flush and splutter.

"Did you have to bring that up?" the Sixth Officer groaned in the end.

Unrepentant, Jack grinned. "Just thought your girl might want to know what to watch out for during your drunken escapades," he shrugged, pulling Lil to her feet, "To the general room?"

There was widespread agreement through the group, though Jim was giving Jack the evil eye. It seemed to merely amuse the recipient, however.

"You'll never guess who I met," Victoria chirped happily to her cousin as they exited the room, dragging Jim over with her.

"Hm, who?" Acacia asked, though she had a feeling she already knew the answer.

"The infamous Jack Dawson's friends," Victoria said with sparkling eyes, unknowingly proving her cousin's guess correct, "Tommy Ryan and Fabrizzio DeRossi. Fabrizzio was getting pretty cozy with Helga, but you should have seen the looks on her parents' faces... Reminded me of Ruth, and not in a good way."

As she chattered they made their way across the aft well deck and into the third class entry. A flood of people ended up buffeting them into the room as they came up the staircase, separating them all. Acacia was only able to keep track of Jack because he was still clutching her hand.

"Oof!" Acacia grunted as she accidentally ran into someone about waist height.

A look down revealed a cherubic face with dark eyes and framed by brown curls. It was Cora Cartmell.

"Why, hello." Acacia told the little girl, rather surprised to see her for some reason, "Where are your parents?" It was hard to stay still in the shifting crowd, but with Jack's help she managed it.

Cora looked over her shoulder but apparently they weren't where she last saw them, because she began to look around. "They're... somewhere in here!" she replied, confused.

Releasing Acacia's hand, Jack knelt on the teak floor. "Could you find them if I lifted you up?" he asked her, barely audible over the noisy crowd. When she nodded, he easily set her on his shoulder and rose back to his full height.

It was a heart-warming sight. 'He'd make a good father,' Acacia thought before she could catch herself. At the thought she blushed and scolded herself for putting the cart before the horse.

Busy with that, Acacia nearly missed him moving off in the direction Cora was pointing in. When she did notice, she had to bump several people out of the way with her hips and elbow others before she got to them. Determined to not lose them again, she put her arm around Jack's waist on the side opposite the shoulder Cora sat on.

Half-way across the room, a rotund man and a blonde woman met them. "Thank you so much for finding her," the woman sighed, relieved, as the man took Cora from Jack's shoulder, "We thought Cora was with us, thank you again." She must have been the little girl's mother.

"It's alright, ma'am," Jack told her, smiling. His burden set down, he laid his arm over Acacia's shoulder comfortably.

Affectionately she laid the side of her head on his shoulder. "I'm Acacia Wood and this wonderful man is Jack Phillips," she introduced herself, holding out a hand to shake.

"Your husband?" asked Mrs. Cartmell, a twinkle in her eyes as she took the proffered hand.

Both younger adults flushed. "We're not quite that close," Acacia laughed nervously.

"Ah, pity," Mrs. Cartmell hummed, before introducing herself and her family, "My name is Aoife Cartmell. This is my husband, Bert, and our daughter Cora." She had a very pleasant, thick Irish accent that Acacia would love to listen to all night.

"It's very nice to meet you," she replied truthfully, a grin breaking out on her face.

They all moved off to the side, seeing no sign of Victoria or the officers. As the music started and the beer was brought out, they took a table and started to chat. Mr. Cartmell bounced a giggling Cora on his knee as the adults spoke, causing the little girl to smile delightedly.

"May I presume that you're heading to America for a new life?" asked Jack interestedly, leaning on the table.

"Aye," Mr. Cartmell agreed, "Things aren't good in Europe right now. It's our best option." He was solemn as he spoke, obviously upset about having to leave.

His wife laid an empathetic hand on his arm. "Why are you going to America?" she asked gently, turning the attention away from her family.

It was an amusing question. "I'm heading home," Acacia replied, smiling, "As much as I love Ireland, It was time to leave." It was as good of an excuse as she could possibly give without being called crazy, not entirely the truth or a lie.

The Cartmells looked at her curiously, but said nothing. Of course, Acacia understood; it wasn't often that anyone below second class traveled for pleasure, and here she was in third at the moment. If she had her way, they wouldn't know otherwise and treat her differently because of it.

"Actually, I'm an employee aboard. I work the telegraph," Jack grimaced.

The corner of Acacia's lips curled up at her beau. "You know you love it," she teased over the music.

"For very few reasons," Jack retorted, tapping his fingers on the table to the drum beat.

Before she could reply, Acacia was yanked out of her chair. "What the hell-" she began before realizing that the chest she fell into smelled familiar. Upon looking up as she was being dragged onto the improvised dance floor, she saw Harry.

"I already took a turn around with Victoria," he explained cheekily. He switched his grip on her quickly into a dancing stance, one hand on her waist and one holding her hand. With his rather amazing height it was a little awkward, but they made it work.

Getting her bearings, Acacia began to learn the dance. "Why thank you for considering me to be of secondary importance," she sniffed, channeling her inner Ruth.

"If you were closer, you would've been first," Harry shrugged casually. How he was engaged with how blunt he was, Acaciahad no idea. His fiancee must have had a remarkably thick skin.

"Well aren't you sweet," the author snorted, "And call me Acacia."

"More like tired," Harry returned, "I'm headed to bed after this." He definitely looked it, with bruise-like shadows under his eyes. Not to mention that he had trodden on her feet twice already.

Wincing, Acacia nodded. "Go on then," she ordered, pushing him toward where she spotted the doors, "Or I might not forgive you for bruising up my poor feet." That was a big lie.

He seemed to know that, as he grinned loopily. "Your wish is my command, Acacia," Harry declared, tripping over his feet as he backed away. With a mocking half-bow, he left.

As she watched, Acacia shook her head indulgently. That man was something else, she privately mused. That he would manage to sleep through the fateful collision later that night only emphasized that.

The thought was driven from her mind when she turned around. It was almost like watching the third class party scene from James Cameron's movie play out in real life, but in Acacia's opinion more adorable. 'Then again, I'm biased,' she reminded herself, watching her Jack spin Cora around.

On the other side of the raised platform, Victoria was easily distinguishable in Jim's arms. It was her dark red curls flying about her face, which was lit from within by her joy. There was no mistaking a woman in love.

Jim looked similarly happy, his dark eyes shining. The tenderness in his expression when he looked at Vic was just as telling, though there was an element of nervousness. What that was about, Acacia wasn't sure she wanted to know- did he feel something was going to happen?

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Will approaching. Out of his uniform he had a relaxed, even ambling gait rather than the measured steps Acacia usually saw from him. Though he was handsome even in threadbare linen and corduroy, she had to admit that she loved a man in uniform.

"May I have this dance?" Will asked formally, one hand proffered and the other behind his back. It seemed that some behaviors stayed no matter what capacity he was acting in.

With a last look over at Jack and Cora, she nodded. "You may," Acacia answered with a small smile, setting herself up in a stance similar to the one she had taken with Harry. Since Will was closer in height however, it was much less strenuous on her neck.

For a few moments they danced without speaking, the music and chatter of others around them enough. From the look on Will's face, he was comfortable with it. Internally, Acacia was trying to find the words for what she wanted to say.

Nothing had changed yet, meaning Will would die that night. It had to stay that way, no matter how Acacia wished it otherwise. As she watched his face, she realized that she had come to care for him much like an uncle or an older brother. Now just how to tell him that...

"You go on watch about half past eleven, right?" Acacia asked quietly.

Will appeared almost startled. "Why yes," he confirmed, "Did Jack tell you?"

Thankful for the excuse he gave her, Acacia nodded. "I like knowing when my friends will be where," she told him primly, "Then I can either save your life or kick your ass whenever it's needed." If only it were possible to do so that night without changing history...

"Only a friend?" Will suggested with a hilarious wiggle of his eyebrows.

Acacia was caught between laughing and staring incredulously. He was joking, right? As it was she stumbled over her feet before getting back into rhythm.

As she hoped, Will simply laughed long and hard. "You're too easy," he chuckled, stopping them in place.

The other dancers adjusted their movements accordingly, springing lightly around them. No one really noticed them, just did their best to avoid crashing. It created the feeling of being in a privacy bubble, almost like the dancing scene in Labyrinth.

To Acacia, the moment was strangely intimate for being in the middle of a crowded room. "Yes?" she asked expectantly.

"You're something like a little sister now," Will told her seriously, changing his grip to hold both of her hands with his, "For a while I thought it might have been something else, but seeing you with Jack..." With a strange little smile he indicated the dark haired man, who was sitting with Mr. and Mrs. Cartmell again.

Confused, Acacia frowned. "I don't get it," she said, "Where are you going with this?"

With a sigh Will asked, "Does he make you happy?"

The question didn't even merit thought. "The happiest I've been in years," Acacia confirmed softly.

"Do you love him?"

"Yes."

"... Then there's nothing else to say," Will smiled, though it was that same strange almost sad one, "It's obvious that you two belong together. He's like a cousin, but if he does anything reprehensible you tell me right away and I'll hand his arse to him. Then I'll tell his mother." The last part was said wryly, but in his eyes his meaning was obvious: "I'll always look out for you."

"How would you explain the bruises?" Acacia asked, as amused as she was touched.

Unabashed, Will shrugged. "He fell down the stairs," he explained in a tone of total innocence.

It was impossible to not break down laughing. That seemed more like something Harry or Jim would pull.

"Can I cut in?" Jack asked, breaking their bubble. It was startling to remember that there was a world beyond their little familial moment.

Will took a second to look between the younger two. "Aye," he agreed. In a movement startlingly like giving away the bride at a wedding, he laid Acacia's hand on Jack's and stepped back.

Once again the world narrowed down to Acacia and her dancing partner. "You better watch out," she found herself joking, "Will is out to get you." The music had slowed down to a more manageable pace, allowing them to mainly revolve in a circle.

"I think I can deal," Jack chuckled, "Jim, on the other hand..." He shook his head exasperatedly.

A look around revealed that their conversation subject had disappeared. It was quickly noted that Victoria was gone as well, while Will had sat down with a couple of big blonde men at a table.

As her cousin was a grown woman now, Acacia put her absence out of mind. After five years of living with a Titanic fanatic Victoria knew where not to go. So instead, she enjoyed herself in third class for the first and last time.

Between talking with the Cartmells and dancing, time flew. One minute Acacia was taking a turn with Mr. Cartmell and the next the party was almost over. Sometime in between Will had gone and Victoria and Jim still hadn't returned by nearly eleven.

Again, Acacia let it go. There was still time and Jack was for some reason insisting on dragging her down to the second class dining room on D deck. "Come on, just tell me what's so interesting in there," she tried wheedling.

Once they entered, Acacia fell silent. A screen had been set up and on it were playing the credits for none other than "The Poseidon Adventure", a film about none other than a capsized, sinking ship. The irony of the situation made her nearly crack a rib from stifled laughter.

Near the back of the crowd so as to not be noticed, the pair pulled up two chairs and sat down to watch. Or at least Jack did; Acacia's eyes dragged closed over and over until she finally fell asleep on his shoulder.

* * *

-EOC-

The next chapter: the infamous iceberg! Will the girls resist the urge to change history?

Remember: reviews are love!

-Thrae


	9. In Which Everything Goes Wrong

Disclaimer: I own nothing under copyright. See the prologue for the full disclaimer.

* * *

**In Which Everything Goes Wrong**

_"A woman is like a tea bag; you never know how strong it is until it's in hot water."_

_― Eleanor Roosevelt, You Learn by Living: Eleven Keys for a More Fulfilling Life_

Though the movie was enthralling, Jack couldn't help sneaking glances down at where his girl rested her head on his shoulder. His girl. He liked the sound of that.

At the moment Acacia was asleep, from the little dribble of saliva dotting the corner of her lips. If she were awake, she would have wiped it away instantly. Under no circumstances was it cute, but another way of knowing that she was perfectly imperfect.

A glint caught his eye from her decolletage, what in the quick glance he restrained himself to looked like rings on her necklace. It brought an ugly thought to Jack's mind. What if this were just a love affair before returning to a fiance for her? While she had said she wasn't married, Acacia had never mentioned whether she was spoken for in other ways.

Any mental note to ask was put out of his thoughts when the floor shook beneath him. The chandeliers were trembling and the picture on the screen wobbled as well when Jack looked, though apparently no one else in the room noticed.

Uneasily, he decided that it was time to go for tonight. Chances were that the film would be played again tomorrow, and that shaking wasn't normal for a ship. 'It wasn't a thrown propellor either,' Jack listed off, shaking Acacia's shoulder with a frown.

The shaking stopped. Not even a minute later, everything was still. Too still; the engines had been shut off.

Worry colored Jack's actions as he elbowed Acacia roughly in the side. "Wake up," he hissed in her ear.

Blearily, her eyes opened. "Did I fall asleep?" Acacia asked, blinking and straightening up in her chair. With a languorous movement of her back and neck, several quiet wet snaps could be heard. It was actually a very disgusting sound.

Hiding his wince, Jack nodded. "I need to get up to the bridge," he told her, keeping the possibility of an emergency to himself. With her reaction to going down the stairs when she still thought it was safe, she'd probably be impossible to calm otherwise.

Understanding, Acacia nodded and got to her feet instantly if a little unsteadily. "The engines shut off," she observed in a whisper, face going pale.

Figuring that she had solved the riddle, Jack allowed his frown to show. "That's why I need to get up to the bridge," he explained, sneaking through the door to the forward second class staircase, "There was no plan to stop tonight."

They traversed up the staircase to C deck, where he led the way through the sheltered promenade deck to the first class areas. At the door to Acacia and Victoria's suite, he stopped for a moment despite the curious passengers now looking out their doors. A few gazes focused on the pair, but were ignored.

"Stay in your room," Jack instructed in a low voice, "When I get news I'll come down, or if I can't, I'll send someone." It would be easier to concentrate if he knew where she was and that she was safe, at least for now. The pessimistic thought was shoved away.

Face tragically white, Acacia managed to nod resolutely. "If there's nothing in twenty minutes I'm coming up there," she warned, a shaky note in her voice.

"Hopefully it won't come to that," Jack muttered darkly. With the attention focused on them he couldn't kiss her as he wanted to, but brought her knuckles up to his lips.

Upon releasing her hand, he made a sharp turn and strode speedily up the hall to the forward first class staircase. The journey seemed much shorter than it was, blurring by until he was at the door to the wireless shack. At the moment Harold had the wireless headphones off and was running his hands through his hair tiredly, a welcome sight.

"Any news on what's happened?" Jack asked, stepping through the curtain to change into his uniform. It wouldn't do for the captain to come in and see him like he was.

It sounded like Harold jumped, from the sound of scraping wood. "Blimey Jack, way to startle a man," he muttered, before answering, "No, nothing. I thought you might've known."

Within a few minutes Jack looked as clean cut and professional as ever, hair in place and tie in a perfect knot. He brushed past the curtain again, this time going to sit in the empty chair in front of the wireless apparatus. "There was a strange grinding, rattling sort of feeling and then a minute later the engines stopped," he reported, brow furrowed, "It didn't sound good, so I took Acacia to her suite and came back here. Any idea what it was?"

"Iceberg?" Harold suggested, shrugging helplessly.

It felt like forever before the captain made an appearance, an oddly dazed look in his eyes. He took a pencil and paper and wrote something down, handing it to Jack.

"CQD? Sir?" the operator questioned. He and Harold subtly traded discomfited looks.

There was no need to be discrete however; the captain probably wouldn't have taken note of a pink elephant flying in on pixie wings. "That's right, CQD. The distress call," he confirmed, "Tell anyone who responds that we're going down by the head and need immediate assistance." Without waiting for a response he left the cabin, hopefully to begin preparing the lifeboats.

There was silence for a moment. It was like the world had just turned upside down: the unsinkable ship was in trouble. "Bloody hell," Jack finally swore.

The moment broken, Harold took the paper from his friend's hand and picked up the bulky headphones again. "Go tell Acacia," the younger man urged, "I can handle it in here a bit." The look in his eyes was strong but vulnerable at the same time, the look of a man with little hope but determined to do his duty.

Slowly, Jack nodded and got to his feet. "I'll be back as soon as possible," he told his friend before leaving the room. This time he didn't bother to hide, rather blazing through the hall to the grand staircase and down.

It was impossible to not notice Acacia the moment he got to C deck. Even in the latest fashion she stuck out like a sore thumb with her odd reddish blonde choppy hair, but the strange clothing she was wearing jumped out even more. The high necked sweater was bright red, the tan trousers were only to her mid-calf and some sort of solid black hose and thin slippers covered her lower legs and feet. A black holster of some sort was attached to her right thigh with buckles around the leg itself and leading beneath the sweater, presumably to a belt.

"What's going on, Jack," Acacia blurted out immediately, "It's something big, or else they wouldn't be telling us to put our lifejackets on." It was a statement and not a question, her lips thinned and eyes hard.

There were even more curious onlookers around, so Jack gave a tiny shake of his head. "If that's the captain's orders, let's get your lifebelt," he suggested in a neutral tone. To get away he led the way back into her suite, shutting the door after them.

"Titanic is sinking, isn't she?" Acacia asked softly, wasting no time once the door was closed. Her arms wrapped protectively around torso, she looked lost and delicate. Normally so full of fire, her eyes- that matched the wall paneling, Jack noticed for the first time- were like that of a doe.

It would have been stupid to lie, so he nodded. "I think so," he confirmed grimly, "The distress message the captain left said that we're going down by the head, meaning-"

"We're sinking bow first, got it," Acacia interrupted. An unprecedented look of horror crossed her face then, before she muttered, "Oh my god, the gates are closed."

"What?" Jack asked, taken aback. When he combed his memory however, she was right. They were probably still closed even, a thought that made him feel slightly ill. The Cartmells and all the others they had danced and partied with earlier that evening were locked below like animals as the ship sank.

"Victoria already went down, she's unlocking the gates," Acacia rushed, stumbling over her words in her hurry, "Well, the forward ones anyway, since she needs help if she's going to succeed at all, but I can't, I'll just freeze up-" She suddenly stopped, her gaze thoughtful as she looked at Jack.

It was like reading her mind. "You can't possibly be asking me to go down and unlock them," he stated.

The look just blazed further. "Listen for a minute, it makes sense," Acacia urged, "You know the ship and you have a uniform on, so people will actually listen to you and you can do it faster than I ever would be able to. Victoria started at the bow, you start at the stern and meet in the middle in half the time with twice the chance of survival as if either of you were on your own."

It did make a certain amount of sense, duty notwithstanding. "I need to get back to the apparatus, I shouldn't even be here," Jack hissed, eyes darting between the woman and the exit. The longer he stayed, the more likely he'd end up going with this crazy plan...

"Harold is there," Acacia countered easily, "I'll even go up and help him if you want. But between us, you're the only one who can go down and help Victoria open those gates!" Her face was fierce, but her tone was desperate. To someone who knew her, it was obvious that she was mainly terrified for her cousin.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Jack weighed the options as best he could while under enormous pressure. A memory of the joyous general room and not quite a minute later, he nodded. "I'll do it," he said hoarsely, "But I need keys."

There was a snapping sound as Acacia opened one of the pouches on her holster. The jingle of keys could be heard even before she tossed the cool metal ring at him, a set she shouldn't have even been in possession of.

"Stolen?" Jack asked expectantly, pocketing them once he confirmed that they were the right keys.

"If they are, it wasn't me," replied Acacia inconclusively, a determined tilt to her mouth. Somehow, even when she was obviously terrified, she was beautiful.

It was impossible not to kiss her. Everything he was feeling- the fear, desperation, the wishing and hoping- spilled out in this one action with all the love he could convey. Breaking for breath, Jack leaned his forehead against hers. "I love you," he whispered.

"I love you more," Acacia returned softly, "Go on, I'll head up to help Harold." Her voice was small, and trembling a little, but resolved.

Jack reluctantly withdrew, memorizing the soft feeling of her skin and the smell of honey and lilies she seemed to naturally carry. It felt strangely final. Slowly and unwillingly, he withdrew and left to fulfill his promise.

He had to be just as insane as Jim.

* * *

Acacia closed her eyes and took a deep breath, leaning her forehead against the wall. This was exactly what she had feared from the beginning, and she was utterly terrified, but for some reason she was completely focused. She was hyper aware of every detail around her from the silence of the room to the cool grain of the door wood. All of it would be underwater in...

She checked the clock on the mantle. It was ten after midnight, meaning there were two hours and ten minutes left. For knowing exactly what would happen and being deathly afraid of this exact event, Acacia was strangely calm.

A swooping feeling took her by surprise when she looked around the room. The lavish furniture was oddly new to Acacia's eyes, despite how often she had sat on it in her few days aboard. Glancing through the doorway to the stateroom reminded her of how lucky she was to be able to be here, to meet these men and fall in love again.

'They're doing their duties,' Acacia decided with another deep breath, 'Now it's time to do mine.' She strode into the stateroom and then the wardrobe, picking a black woolen coat and grey scarf. They would be discarded as soon as she hit the water, but until then it was essential to preserve as much body heat as possible. A pair of leather gloves she shoved into her right pocket, figuring they would be helpful to grip railings or ropes.

Looking around the stateroom again two blankets caught her eye, one folded at the foot of each bed. Those could be useful. Acacia picked up both of them and left the room.

The confused faces of other passengers seemed to blur, even those who seemed to be talking to her. They were all ignored as she traversed up the forward staircase to the boat deck, then outside.

A blast of cold air brought full awareness back to Acacia. Whistles and shouts could be heard from every which way and sailors scrambled around a few of the boats that she could see. The deck was filling, but it was by no means crowded and confusion still seemed to be the general sentiment. The faces Acacia paid attention to had a shadow of fear etching into them though, a realization that something was honestly wrong.

'You're a little late on that one,' she thought cynically, listening to a man state the obvious.

Near the end of the first class deck, Acacia spied boat fourteen being loaded. There was a ring of passengers around it, seemingly jostling toward the boat. Squeezing in between two men, she was about to hand the blankets to a woman when her name was called.

"Acacia! Come aboard!" instructed Harry from inside, gesturing for her to come forward. His dark eyes were scared, but there was no tremble in his voice. The way he hid his fear was admirable.

Sadly, Acacia shook her head. "I've got to find Harold!" she called, "Take these! They'll come in useful!" She tossed the folded blankets at the Fifth Officer, and took the opportunity to vanish into the crowd while he was distracted with them.

That mission over with, Acacia strode purposefully back into the first class stairway. A look down the stairs showed that they were still dry for now, which somehow made her even more uneasy. The hall forward of it was empty, but tapping could be heard easily from the wireless room.

When she got to the doorway, her heart swelled to see Harold at the apparatus despite the tilt of the ship becoming obvious. He didn't start when Acacia tapped him on the shoulder, instead commenting as he took the headphones from one ear, "Took you long enough. She safe on a boat?"

Despite the situation, Acacia allowed herself an amused snort. "Not quite," she replied dryly.

"Bloody hell, what're you doing here?" Harold asked, horrified, "And where's Jack?"

"He and Victoria are down below unlocking the gates. He sent me here in his place," Acacia answered, sliding into the second chair.

"Gates? The third class gates are still bloody locked?" Harold questioned. His face had gone white and his eyes wide at the implications.

Nodding, Acacia pursed her lips. "Have the officers or the captain come for reports?" she asked.

"About fifteen minutes ago," Harold replied, running his hand through his hair as far back as the headphones would allow, "Boiler room four is filling rapidly, probably room five as well by now, and the Frankfurt replied with their position." From the look on his face, it wasn't close enough to be of any help.

"Go tell the captain. I'll take over a minute," Acacia urged gently.

Slowly, Harold took the headphones off. "You know the codes?" he questioned.

Acacia nodded and put the heavy headphones on, leaving one ear open. "Aye," she replied, picking up a pencil and piece of paper, "But I'll write it all down just in case." With a tight smile, she placed the plates over her ears as an effective end to the conversation, blocking out all noise.

Harold left, almost jogging out of the room. He didn't seem to have much confidence in her skills.

'Time to surprise him,' Acacia thought, tapping out, "SOS MGY." It was the new distress call mandated by the Berlin convention and the Titanic's identifier, which for the untrained mind could be rather confusing. It certainly was to her when she started learning.

Almost immediately a reply came from the Carpathia. Smirking to herself, Acacia wrote down the message- the longitude and latitude of the ship and that they had turned around and were coming as quickly as they could.

A tap on her shoulder had Acacia shifting one headphone to the side. "Any news?" she asked immediately.

"The forward well deck is going under," Harold reported grimly, "There's not much time left."

The information was transmitted before Acacia realized her fingers were doing so. "Here, take this," she told him, shoving the paper at him, "Carpathia. They'll be here at about four, making seventeen knots." It was awe-inspiring; according to her research, its service speed was fourteen knots.

This time, there was a shadow of a smile on Harold's face. He took the message and left again.

Acacia replaced the left headphone and got back to work. That was when "KMC", the Olympic, replied. She sent the Titanic's position and status, after which there was nothing.

That was when the captain came in. "The Olympic is on her way, but she's five hundred miles away. The Carpathia will get here first," Acacia reported, disregarding that she wasn't supposed to be there.

"Thank you, Miss Wood," The captain sighed, squeezing his eyes closed for a moment, "But have you any idea where Mr. Phillips is?" He opened his eyes and looked at her, dazed and hollow.

"At the moment, no," Acacia responded truthfully. For all she knew, he was coming up the staircase right that moment.

Muttering to himself, Smith then left.

It brought a troubling thought to Acacia's mind. "I'll be right back," she told Harold, worrying at her lower lip, "I'm going to try to find Jack or Victoria."

She traded places with Harold, patting him on the shoulder before she raced out of the room. Going back to the staircase, she looked down and was horrified to see that the water was half way up A deck. Several people were struggling in the water and even more were running up the stairs, though Acacia recognized none of them.

"Shit," she muttered to herself, scowling, "If they get killed down there, I'll bring them back to kill them again."

Deciding that it was about time to abandon ship, she hurried back to the Marconi room. "Things are getting bad," Acacia told him once he uncovered one ear, "The water is up to A deck, no sign of either of them. Let's get our lifebelts on."

Harold nodded, pale, and got up to take two lifebelts from the top of the wardrobe on the other side of the curtain. One he handed to Acacia, who tucked it under her arm. "Let's send a last quick message," she suggested, seeing no sign of the captain coming to dismiss Harold.

Picking up the heavy headphones, he held one side to an ear and tapped out a message. So used to Morse code now, Acacia knew what it was before she could intentionally piece together the dits and dahs. "CQD MGY" and the coordinates were sent out, along with the message, "Engine room flooding."

As Harold did so, Captain Smith finally came in. At his feet was the beginnings of a pool of water. "You can do no more here," he declared, eyes sad, "It's every man for himself now. Thank you for your service Mr. Bride, Ms. Wood." He then strode into a shallow pool of water and out of sight.

At the sight of the water, Acacia froze. While she had known she would be in the water at least once, she realized she hadn't accepted it. 'Oh hell no,' she thought, watching the pool get deeper and larger, 'This isn't happening. The hell, this is happening.'

Suddenly, there was pain in her shoulder. "Huh?" she grunted dumbly, giving Harold a dumbfounded look.

"Now's not the time to panic," he said firmly, getting a coat on. He stuffed some money in his pockets before leading Acacia by the hand down the familiar corridor.

It was comforting, the living heat of Harold's hand in hers and the calloused second phalanges of his pointer and middle fingers. They were delicately built, barely any larger than hers, but still provided an unexplainable feeling of safety. The water was to the boat deck of the grand staircase now, lapping at the bottom of the rails.

With a gulp, Acacia tightened her grip on Harold's hand. She forced herself to look ahead at the door they were about to go through. 'I'll be fine. I'll live and probably testify at the trial and honestly write a book in this era, marry Jack and live a happy quiet existence in the British countryside,' she tried to convince herself.

It nearly worked. Then the cold air stung Acacia's face and the panic of the crowd brought her fears back. In an effort to calm herself she pressed her body into Harold's arm as he pulled her through the thick crowd toward the collapsible boats.

The impossible happened right as they about reached them: Acacia heard her name being called. "Wait!" she yelled over the commotion, tugging Harrold to a stop.

"What is it?" he asked, shooting nervous looks at where the boat was tied up on the officer's quarters.

From a pocket of the thigh holster Acacia pulled the stiletto. "Take this!" she shouted, pressing the button at the end of it. The blade popped out, glimmering sinisterly.

The look Harold gave it and then her was awed as he took it. "Stay here, I'll be right back," he told her, and in a spur of the moment action pressed a kiss to her forehead. From the look on his face he expected this no more than Acacia had, but rushed up to climb on the officer's quarters without a word.

Alone in the pressing crowd, Acacia felt lost. The deck was heavily tilted under her feet and the crowd around her was loud and desperate, while water could easily be heard lapping at the foundering vessel. It was cold, dark and there wasn't much time left.

"Acacia!" This time the voice was much closer and easily recognizable.

She spun about, her heart going wild in her chest, and ran to where the voice was coming from. "Jack!" she called, looking every which way for him, "Jack! Where are you!"

Finally, he burst through a knot of people gathered around a pastor. His jacket and peaked hat were missing and pieces of dark hair hung in his eyes, soaked just like the rest of him. It took Acacia by surprise to see him in such disarray, even as he rushed over and crushed her to his chest.

"Oh, thank the gods," she muttered into his chest, wrapping her arms tightly around him, "What happened, you're freezing!"

"A rush of water broke a couple of doors and... she's gone, Acacia," Jack explained in a heavy voice, "Victoria. She must have gotten trapped and been unable to open the doors. I'm so sorry."

Acacia's stomach dropped into the region of her knees. "I... expected as much," she admitted, though she hated to do so, "She didn't know her way around the ship very well... Always had more balls than brains." She shivered against Jack, suddenly feeling the cold so much more acutely.

A crash echoed, the boat being pushed onto the deck. Without even looking, Acacia knew it had fallen upside down and that the water was about to spill over the rail...

The panicked yells of the men gathered around the boat confirmed her knowledge. She tucked herself closer to Jack, wishing for it to just be over already. Of all the people on earth, she knew that their chances of survival were abysmal now that the boats were essentially gone.

"Come on, let's get to the stern," Jack urged gently, steering her through the crowd around the pastor. Despite how cold it was, his arm was a welcome weight around her hips.

It struck Acacia's dazed mind as funny how only at the end were they able to show their affection freely. She leaned her head on Jack's shoulder as they walked up the deck, which seemed to slope more and more as they went. By the time they reached the poop deck, it was so slanted that it was difficult to remain upright.

The rest of the way to the fantail was more of a climbing exercise than walking. Even as Jack and Acacia dragged themselves and each other back, people slid past them screaming. More and more went, one almost grabbing Acacia's ankle, until finally they were holding onto the rail.

A brainwave hit Acacia, who wrapped a knee and elbow around the rail so she could yank the lifebelt she was still carrying over Jack's head. "You're not allowed to die on me," she declared sternly, tying the cords of the flotation device.

Jack tried to protest, "But you're the one who needs this! Put it on yourself!" He took a hand off the rail to try to take the lifebelt off. It was slapped away.

"It's the cold that would kill me, not the water," Acacia assured him, finishing with the ties, "I'm a strong swimmer, I can make it to a boat, or at least some wreckage." She then pulled the leather gloves from her pocket and put them on her hands almost calmly, knowing that her sweaty hands would lose grip on the rail otherwise.

"Promise you'll do everything you can to survive," Jack demanded, dark eyes staring into hers.

"If you do," Acacia agreed, taking off her coat one sleeve at a time, then her scarf. Those too she put on Jack, since he had the lifebelt. It would only weigh her down and make it more difficult to swim.

A heavy wind practically slapped her in the face, making her gasp. Both hands back on the rail, she thanked whichever god or goddess had put the thermal clothing in her drawers. It combined with the sweater and capris she was wearing blocked the wind from reaching her body. 'Now time to figure out if it's waterproof,' Acacia thought ominously, gripping the rail tighter with her knee and hands. The ship was nearly vertical now.

"I love you," Jack whispered into her ear, "And I promise I'll try." He too had slung a knee over the rail, using it to help his arms support his weight.

"I love you more," Acacia returned softly, barely able to hear herself over the screams around her, "And I'll try my best to find you aboard the Carpathia." At his look of surprise, she added, "She'll be here at about four. She's making full steam."

The relief in Jack's face was palpable. "I'll see you on the Carpathia then," he said, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

Something felt different within Acacia. It was a kind of weakening, though her muscles were holding on as hard as before. She couldn't describe it as anything but the knowledge of a rope fraying within her, although what that rope was, she didn't know.

That was when the Titanic split. In an earsplitting groan that expressed the agony of a thousand tortured souls, the ship of dreams tore in two and the stern crashed back horizontally onto the water.

"This is it!" Acacia heard Jack Dawson yell somewhere to her left. She couldn't agree more.

Mainly using her shoulder and hip strength, she climbed over the rail while it was still swinging back upward. Beside her, Jack did the same. By the time they were over and kneeling on the fantail, it was completely vertical again and still.

If it weren't for the situation, the view would have been beautiful. The stars were bright against the inky sky and the water was smooth as glass, dotted by lifeboats and dark shapes of icebergs in the distance.

It could have been anywhere between a minute and five before the stern began to sink. It jerked Acacia where she knelt, making her squeak like a frightened mouse. On the other hand, Jack shouted.

Acacia whipped her head to the side, only to gasp in horror. Jack's hands scrabbled for purchase but the smooth steel plates afforded him nothing. He fell, fell, fell... The splash as he hit the water couldn't even be heard over the rumbling of the sinking stern.

It was hard not to scream. This was what it seemed like Acacia's entire life led up to, her worst fear, but more than that, she had lost everything already that made it even worth being afraid. There was no more fear, only heart-wrenching sorrow.

When the water finally reached the fantail where she knelt, she stood and with Chief Baker Joughin stepped blithely off the ship. Her hair didn't even get wet, only a small comfort when her feet felt like they were being stabbed with chilled knives. The thermal clothing was doing its job, toning down the cold only to the equivalent of being in shorts in a Washington winter rainfall.

Acacia couldn't find it in herself to care anymore. The only thing that kept her swimming out of the throng of doomed men and women was the promise she had made. 'For Jack,' she resolved, cutting through the water with a strong breaststroke.

On her way out of the thrashing crowd, Acacia caught sight of a face she knew: Jim. His eyes were shut however, even as he kept hold of a deck chair. If he were even alive, he wouldn't last much longer. She didn't stop swimming though, going right past him in an effort to find herself a raft.

Right outside the screaming throng Acacia caught sight of a wide but thin piece of paneling and a boy who couldn't have been more than sixteen holding onto it. His shoulders quaked with shivers and eyes were wide and haunted. He appeared too cold and frightened to even try moving.

'That won't do,' Acacia decided, swimming over. "Look, a boat's nearby," she told the boy, pointing to thee boat that appeared to be nearest, "Come on, let's paddle over. Keep warm." She wondered how her voice was so steady.

The boy nodded jerkily and together the odd duo started kicking. Their arms flung over the paneling, they used it as a partial raft to keep their heads shoulders out of the water. It was hard work, but they keep going.

When her legs started screaming for relief, Acacia asked as a distractor, "What's your name, kid?"

It worked; the boy spluttered, "I-I'm not a ch-ch-child, I'm sixt-teen!" His teeth chattered like crazy as he spoke and his lips looked to be turning blue.

"A man in full then," Acacia teased, giving her best smile. It was still tremulous. "I'm Acacia Wood. Who are you, my good man?" she corrected herself.

"A-Alfred R-R-Rush," he answered, returning her smile with a shaky one of his own.

"It's nice to meet you, Alfred. If only it had been under better circumstances," Acacia wished, kicking harder as the lifeboat loomed larger and larger.

"I agree," the boy said, face strained in the starlight, "G-god, it's c-cold in h-h-here." He kept up in kicking with some effort, his fingers clenching and relaxing where they gripped the makeshift raft.

"That's why we're trying to keep warm, yeah?" Acacia insisted, trying to keep them occupied as the screams around them began to fade, "Where were you going to go when the ship docked?"

"D-Detroit," Alfred told her, "M-my b-b-rother is there. A-and you?" He tilted his head toward her curiously, the distraction seeming to work somewhat.

"G-going home," Acacia answered, the cold beginning to get to her. She wiggled her toes in an effort to keep some feeling in them. "I was in S-Scotland on holiday but I l-live in Oregon."

"I-is it nice there?" asked Alfred, "N-nice and w-warm?"

Acacia nodded tersely, her heart thumping in her chest as they got near enough to the boat to start making out individual faces. There were only a few in the boat, perhaps twelve.

"In the s-summer," Acacia gave a better response, "In the winter it gets s-s-something like this a-and you don't thaw out until J-june. But it's p-perfect to grow f-fruit." She smiled a little, remembering the small orchard and berry patch on her property.

"W-what k-kind of f-f-fruit?" questioned Alfred brightly, also seeing how close they were.

"Lots of kinds," Acacia reminisced, her lips curling up, "S-strawberries, blueberries, blackberries, a-apples, pears, hazelnuts, m-mulberries... Lots of fruit. And veggies. Lots and lots of v-veggies." It seemed like the cold was starting to affect her brain or something, as her vocabulary had gone to hell.

"T-that s-sounds r-r-really n-nice," Alfred smiled. His lips were now a very dark blue, verging on purple, and his face nearly matched the boat's whitewashed hull.

Finally, they were only a few yards away from the boat. "Hey! T-take us aboard!" Acacia called, continuing to paddle closer.

There were exclamations of surprise as seemingly all the occupants of the boat rushed to look. "Blimey, two of 'em made it all the way out here!" exclaimed one crewman, going white.

"Well help them up!" demanded a man who certainly wasn't a crew member, holding an arm out to the duo in the water.

In a silent request, Acacia steered the board so that Alfred was nearer to the boat. He was pulled up by the passenger and one of the crew members. The thump of him hitting the boat bottom was a welcome sound and made her smile.

"Be c-careful, I'm heavier than I l-look," Acacia warned, letting go of the paneling to grab the extended hands. Only then did she realize she still had the gloves on; they hadn't helped much in blocking out the cold.

It took four of the men to lift her from the water. "You weren't joking when you said you were heavy," panted one of the men, rubbing his hands together.

In response, Acacia grinned. "T-thanks," she said to the sparse occupants of the boat, "I think w-we're the only ones that m-managed to get this f-far."

At that, a few men including the outspoken passenger gave nasty looks to the others. It seemed that they had wanted to go back but were overruled. From the looks of things, this was boat one with the Duff-Gordons.

Beside her, Alfred kept shivering violently. It seemed that he didn't even realize he was leaning into Acacia's side, trying to sap heat.

"Do any of you have an extra b-blanket or coat f-for him?" she asked, wrapping an arm around the boy. Her natural mothering instincts were acting up, no matter how he probably wouldn't appreciate it.

One of the crewmen gave up his coat, sinking down to sit on the floor of the boat and get away from the wind. The gentleman who had wanted to go back wrapped his around Acacia, rubbing his hands up and down her arms briskly to try and generate some heat.

"Thank you," she and Alfred both said, curling into the body-warmed coats gratefully.

There was silence for a very long time after that. It was unwelcome and thoughts of bright grins, happy squeals and tender kisses invaded Acacia's mind. Now that she was out of danger it was impossible to keep her tears in check.

Though he looked a little awkward about it, Alfred allowed her to lean her head on his chest and cry. Making little shushing noises, he rubbed her back firmly.

There was an irritated huff from near the back of the boat, which for some reason only made Acacia cry even harder. Wracking sobs shook her shoulders and her nose ran, though she tried to keep that off poor Alfred's shirt at least. Her head hurt from the cold and emotional overload and her throat hurt from the hiccups that were rapidly coming up it.

Why? Victoria had never done anything worthy of drowning in a lonely, cold corridor, and Jack and Jim were just as undeserving of their fates! It was so unfair!

Acacia had no idea when she fell asleep crying.

* * *

Eros scowled at Hades. "Well done, you have them now," he snapped irritably, "Have fun ruining my romances?"

"They're certainly not in my realm," the god of the underworld petulantly argued, "I just about had them when they were snatched away! And it's not like the girl or her lover bit it, she managed to do that much."

Surprised, Eros blinked owlishly. "If it's not you..." he mused before an idea hit that made him grin gleefully, "Yes!" He whooped and danced around in celebration, nearly smacking Hades with one of his wings.

Little did anyone know, Hera had her own trick to play. If she had her way, things were going to get a great deal more complicated for them all.

With a smirk, she concentrated on Acacia and began her work. This would teach Eros to do anything without consulting the goddess of marriage.

* * *

-EOC-

Well that was certainly an adventure!

Just what is Hera planning? I want to know and I don't at the same time. (I really hate it when the characters don't tell me what they're doing...)

Reviews make me happy!

-Thrae


	10. In Which the Survivors Are Rescued

Back again, this time with the rest of the night and at least part of the Carpathia.

Disclaimer: I own nothing under copyright. See the prologue for the full disclaimer.

* * *

**In Which the Survivors Are Rescued**

_"If you gave someone your heart and they died, did they take it with them? Did you spend the rest of forever with a hole inside you that couldn't be filled?"_

_― Jodi Picoult, Nineteen Minutes_

Acacia mustn't have been asleep very long, since the sun was just starting to rise when she opened her eyes. The bergs around them were illuminated like spikes of pearl and silver, beautiful yet deadly. A few boats could be seen in the distance, and silence wrapped around the whole area aside of waves lapping at the tiny crafts.

A few of the others in the boat were asleep, though most were awake with bags under their eyes. That included the younger of the two women who had been in the boat when Acacia was pulled aboard, probably the Duff-Gordons' secretary. They traded exhausted smiles.

"You think we'll be rescued soon?" whispered one crewman.

"Of course! There'll be ships searching half the ocean for us!" answered his companion confidently.

Acacia opened her mouth to add what she knew, but ended up just coughing. Remembering the flask on her holster, she brought it out and took the few sips that weren't frozen.

"Is that brandy?" asked the crewman who had wondered about rescue. His eyes shone hopefully.

"Sorry," Acacia answered hoarsely, her cracked lips stretching painfully in a smile, "It's water, and frozen water at that." If it were alcohol, she still wouldn't have given them any.

Though he looked put out, the man pursued, "Why weren't you on a boat? You're a woman, you would've been allowed on." He didn't look bitter or accusing, just curious and tired.

"I... was waiting for someone," Acacia answered, squeezing her eyes shut against the tears that threatened to flood them again, "So I kept myself busy doing his job in the Marconi room until he could make it back. He only did when water rushed up on the deck... There were only collapsibles A and B left and those were swamped already, so we went to the stern." She stopped short, unable to say the rest. It was too soon.

"The Marconi room?" questioned the confident seaman, seemingly impressed, "So you know what ships are coming?"

Acacia nodded. Replacing the flask on her holster, she dug around in the pockets with numb fingers to buy herself some time to clear the lump from her throat. Upon finding her chapstick, she slathered it on her lips. "The Carpathia should get here around half after three," she replied, "After that, the Californian, the Baltic and then the Olympic will be on the scene."

The gentleman who had helped pull her aboard checked a pocket watch. "It's three now," he told them, the corner of his lips tilting up on his grey face.

There was a mild celebratory cheer, which woke Alfred. "What's going on?" he asked sleepily, gazing about with hazy eyes.

"In half and hour or so, the rescue ship will be here," Acacia told him, smiling at the grin that lit the boy's face, "We'll be alright and you can get to Detroit with quite the story." That was saying the least.

"And you'll go to Oregon with one as well," Alfred returned tactlessly, though he wouldn't have known that.

The reminder sent a shot of pain through Acacia's chest. "I'd rather have my cousin," she replied sadly.

"I'm sorry," Alfred apologized, sobering immediately, "I wouldn't have mentioned it if I'd known."

"I've got to accept it sometime," Acacia replied past the lump in her throat, "She was down unlocking the gates to third class when she got trapped. That's what Jack said anyways, before he... At least Harold and Harry made it." She smiled weakly.

"Harold and Harry?" Alfred tried coaxing her into speaking of happier things. He probably didn't want to deal with her crying again, so she indulged him. There would be time for tears later.

"Harold Bride and Harold Lowe, though I call Lowe, Harry," Acacia explained, playing with the fingertips of her gloves, "The second wireless operator and the Fifth Officer. They've both become very dear to me over the journey. Harry commanded boat 14, he was the one firing the gun down the side to scare men off of trying to jump aboard, though traditionally that should have been Jim, the lowest ranking... He died tonight, probably waiting for my cousin. Idiot. And Harold, he managed to get on collapsible B, but I'm betting that his legs are in really bad shape. The boat is overturned and very crowded. But at least he's alive."

In the quiet, her every word could be very easily heard. It didn't bother Acacia as as it normally would have. There was too much hurt in her words to have stage fright.

"How do you know all that?" asked the gentleman, giving her an odd look. He was probably thinking her crazy.

"Harold borrowed my knife to help unlash B from the roof of the officers' quarters, so I'm assuming he was able to secure a place, and I saw Jim when I was swimming over to the board Alfred was hanging onto. He was already out cold, and floating in this ocean... Once you close your eyes, you're done for. I assumed he was waiting for my cousin because, well, he was in love with her. He wouldn't have been able to go without knowing she was safe," Acacia shrugged, mixing the truth and lies. While she had seen and would have assumed all of that, it's not how she actually knew. That, no one would have believed.

"That's a beautiful story," the younger woman said softly.

"It is," Acacia mused, "An officer and a passenger falling in love on the doomed maiden voyage of the grandest ship in the world... I wouldn't be surprised if there were a book written about that someday." It was the thing of legends, like Tristan and Isolde or Romeo and Juliet.

There was again silence, though this felt more light and contemplative. Perhaps it was just the sun beginning to rise. Everything seemed different during the day.

That was when a faint bang could be heard- rockets. A flash of green could be seen in the sky, and a cloud of black under it. A ship was coming, specifically the Carpathia.

"Whooooohooooo!" Acacia hollered, punching the air in celebration, "Rescue!" She moved to the side and grabbed an oar, heart soaring. It wasn't her imagination this time; everything was better than before. She wasn't on a sinking ship and rescue from the icy sea was within reach.

"Three-thirty," announced the gentleman, closing his watch again with a quiet click, "You were perfectly right, miss."

With the seven crew members, Acacia, Alfred and another man rowing, their boat was the second to reach the Carpathia's side. Idly, she noticed that the first was boat two.

It felt strange and intimidating to be looking up the side and so close to the waterline. It made Acacia more than a little nervous as she watched Lady Duff-Gordon and her secretary climb the ladder that had been thrown down the side of the ship. She fussed over Alfred in the meanwhile, hauling him over to the ladder and making him go up before her.

Concentrating on his feet above her was the only way Acacia was able to get up to the open hatch without freezing up. This was far too soon to be on a ship again, but she didn't have any other choice. There were no words for how welcome it was to be safe in the corridor at the top.

Not hungry but very thirsty, she accepted the tea and brandy she was offered, pouring the alcohol into the hot drink. It felt good in her hands, even through her gloves. A sip felt like it scalded her mouth, but she knew she was simply that cold.

Now it was Alfred looking after her, guiding her up the corridors and stairways according to the stewards' directions. It had all passed in one ear and out the other for Acacia. It felt like the whole episode with the Titanic had been a dream and she would wake any minute.

On deck a few scattered people stood or sat, and a steward went from person to person with a clipboard and pencil. After only a few minutes he reached Acacia and Alfred where they stood at the rail, watching the other lifeboats crawl over. "Excuse me, can I take your names?" he requested politely, casting sympathetic eyes on them.

"Alfred Rush," the teen replied.

"And your class?" the steward asked, upon scribbling down the name.

"Steerage," Alfred answered with a grim look.

The steward nodded and wrote that down, then looked to Acacial. "And you, ma'am?" he asked.

"Acacia Wood, first class," she sighed tiredly as she handed her suddenly-empty cup to the steward. Her eyes felt heavy as she watched him thank them for their time and hurry over to a new wave of survivors. The cup hung off his pinky almost comically.

Each boat that pulled up to the side was fuller than the last until only boats 12, 14 and collapsible D were left. Until then she had seen people she recognized from dinner and passing them in the halls, even Bruce Ismay, but no one very important to her that she could see. Those three boats were her last hope.

Watching them row sluggishly toward the rescue ship, Acacia wondered about one particular man she had seen. He seemed to have been unconscious, as he had been hauled aboard unmoving. Would he die soon? Was he already dead? As he had been facing downward when he was pulled up, she hadn't even been able to see if she knew him.

'Whoever he is, he's in bad shape,' she thought, watching boats 14 and D come alongside. The mast on 14 was being stowed by none other than Harry as the occupants partially climbed and were partially pulled aboard, making Acacia smile. Of course, he would be so orderly.

Less than five minutes later, Harry was on the already crowded deck. At first he looked a little lost, but then he looked straight at her... and charged. "By god, woman!" he shouted, barely intelligible through his emotion-thickened accent, "You're looney! You're mad! You're a complete nutter!"

"And you're easily distracted!" Acacia returned, smiling. She held out her arms expectantly and wasn't disappointed, laughing when he swept her about in a circle.

When she was released, Acacia saw that Alfred was watching with amusement. "I take it this is Harry?" he asked.

"Fifth Officer Harold Lowe," Lil introduced brightly, keeping an arm wrapped around his waist for the moment, "Harry, this is a friend I made in the water, Alfred Rush."

Though he shook the boy's hand, Harry gave her a flat look. "After the officers are done reporting to the captain, we're having a serious talk about what to do when a ship is sinking," he told her sternly.

"Yes, father," Acacia replied dryly. She was cuffed lightly up the head for her cheek.

It was at that moment that a small voice called out, "Mummy, look! It's Alfred!" A young boy, probably eight or nine years old, came running up and latched onto the teen's leg fiercely.

"Frankie!" Alfred replied, ruffling the boy's hair enthusiastically. He was then seized by a woman with dark hair, who appeared to be crying. It was a heartwarming sight.

The other officers then joined the small gathering, shaking hands and expressing relief at seeing them. By his mustache Officer Pitman was easily recognizable, and the other man introduced himself as Officer Boxhall. Last to join them was Officer Lightoller, who looked several years older than he actually was.

"Charles Lightoller, miss," he introduced himself once the pats on the back and handshakes were bestowed.

"Acacia Wood," she returned, giving his hands a firm shake, "How is Harold doing? Harold Bride?" She hadn't seen him lifted into the ship, but knew for a fact that he had survived.

The Second Officer winced. "Can't move his legs," he replied uncomfortably, "Hopefully they'll be able to save them..." He shifted where he stood tensely.

The relief that flowed through Acacia was huge. "At least he's alive," she sighed, leaning into Harry's side.

"Excuse me ma'am?" asked the woman who had rushed over to Alfred.

"Yes?" Acacia replied tiredly, though she was trying her best to be polite. All she wanted right now was to go to sleep somewhere warm and preferably on a high deck.

"Alfred tells me that you helped him swim to safety. You saved his life," the woman stated with mixed emotions, "I'd like to thank you for what you did, it was a very noble thing." She held a hand out.

Acacia released Harry and went to his other side to shake the woman's hand. "We saved each other," she compromised with a small smile, "He was very good at distracting me from the cold and how -" she yawned, "- tired I was." She still was tired, exhausted to the bone actually.

A hand laid on her shoulder. "Let's get you to a bed," Harry suggested, "You're about to drop."

"You just don't want me to distract you and run off again," Acacia returned, probably slurring her words a little. She couldn't tell and didn't particularly care.

"That too," Harry admitted, steering her after the officers. They climbed two stairways before reaching the bridge, where seven men stood in a knot behind the seaman at the wheel. One Acacia didn't notice had been leading her group joined the Carpathia's officer, who turned their attention to the newcomers.

"You are the surviving Titanic officers?" asked the most decorated man, probably Captain Rostron. He gave Acacia an odd look, but said nothing of her.

"Aye," Lightoller agreed, "I am Charles Lightoller, formerly Second Officer of the Titanic. These are Herbert Pitman, Third Officer; Joseph Boxhall, Fourth Officer; Harold Lowe, Fifth Officer; and Miss Acacia Wood, who I am told was responsible for calling you here. Thank you very much for your speedy rescue, we and our surviving passengers are most grateful." He nodded his head respectfully, as did the others.

"We did as any good sailors would," Captain Rostron told him graciously, "Are these all the surviving officers? What of Captain Smith?" He seemed troubled as he looked at the assembled group.

"Yes, this is all of us," Lightoller said, a shadow crossing his face, "Captain Smith went down with his ship and we lost our Chief, First and Sixth Officers as well." It seemed to almost physically pain him to say this.

Captain Rostron sighed, "All fine men, I am sure. The officers and I have doubled up and you're welcome to the free bunks." Again looking at Acacia, he then added, "We'll find somewhere for the lady as well, rest assured."

"If you could tell me where Harold Bride is, I'll take a piece of floor by him," Acacia yawned, leaning on Harry. Hell, she'd take the end of his bed if it was the only thing available.

Captain Rostron appeared confused, but Lightoller gave her a look of understanding. "Where did you put the injured?" asked the former Second Officer, "Mr. Bride lost the use of his legs overnight, hopefully only temporarily."

"Ah," the captain said crisply, "Yes, he would most likely be in one of the dining rooms or the onboard hospital. Mr. Fallohide, could you please show the lady?" He looked to the officer who had been escorting them before, a younger man than the rest.

Officer Fallohide nodded. "Please follow me, ma'am," he requested, waving her to follow him out of the bridge.

For a bit they walked in silence, but in what seemed to be the first class staircase Officer Fallohide asked hesitantly, "Are you Acacia Wood as in the romance writer?"

She chuckled. "Am I that well known for them?" Acacia asked, making a mental note to read them when she could.

"Well yes, miss," the officer informed her, "My girl back home is very fond of them, especially that one about the gypsies." He turned a little pink, probably at the fact that he knew that much about them.

"I'm glad to hear that my work is appreciated. Even if it is the trashy romances," Acacia snorted, not particularly caring how unladylike it was.

Thankfully they reached the first class dining room right then, so the conversation was cut off. Many faces peered up at them from cots made up on the floor, while some even laid on the bolted down tables despite the height. It was mostly women and children in that room, though two men grimy with coal dust were heavily bandaged.

"He's not here," Acacia announced quietly, frowning, "He's twenty-one, though he looks a bit younger, and last I saw he was still wearing his uniform jacket. Dark hair, light brown eyes." Hopefully he would be in the second class dining room... She wasn't sure she was ready to head into third class yet, despite knowing nothing would happen.

He was. In the far corner under a window, Harold Bride sat against a wall examining his surroundings with a faraway look. Peeking out from under a green steamer blanket his feet were cocooned in bandages until they were essentially shapeless, but otherwise he appeared to be physically fine.

"Harold!" Acacia called delightedly, dodging around others on the floor to get to him. Not two feet away she fell to her knees beside him and threw her arms around his shoulders.

Harold jumped, but when he realized it was only her, his arms wrapped tightly around her ribs. It felt beautiful to have her friend there and alive. While she had known all this time that he would survive, knowing in the mind and the heart are two different things.

"Acacia," he said hoarsely, burying his face in her neck, "I thought you were dead. I couldn't find you." His hands rubbed up and down her back harshly, almost as if trying to reassure himself that she was really there.

"I know, I'm sorry," she replied, breathing in the smell of saltwater prominent in his hair and clothing.

A finger tapped Acacia on the shoulder, causing them to break apart. It was Officer Fallohide, who held out a blanket for her. "I need to head back to the bridge, Miss Wood," he told her with a soft smile, "I'm very glad you found your fiance."

Dumbfounded, Acacia gaped at the officer. "No, we're just friends," she blurted out, "Thank you very much for your help though, Mr. Fallohide."

With an amused look, the officer tipped his hat and left.

The odd pair sat in disbelieving silence for a moment before breaking out in inexplicable snickers. It wasn't even funny, just an expression of overwhelming emotion.

"So what happened?" questioned Harold when they regained their calm, "Why didn't you wait for me?" His eyes were curious, though wary. It seemed that he knew something wasn't right.

The smile sagged from Acacia's face. "I'll tell you when I wake up," she requested, "But for right now, I'd like to sleep. It's been a very long night." She gave Harold her best puppy eyes, hoping he'd go with it.

Solemnly, Harold did. "Just don't run off on me this time," he teased.

"I won't," Acacia promised. She settled onto the floor beside him, near enough to feel his presence but not to touch, and put an arm out to pillow her head.

A pair of lips touching her temple made her smile. It was the last thing Acacia felt before she slipped off to the Land of Nod.

* * *

Harold was troubled. Though he was grateful to simply be alive, he could only hope that his feet would recover. When he asked, Jack, Jim and Miss King weren't on the survivor list. And well over twelve hours after she first laid down, Acacia still hadn't woken up.

"Hello, Harry," he greeted the former Fifth Officer distractedly, "You look dreadful."

It was a large understatement: his eyes didn't shine, his hair was everywhere and he had the appearance of having two black eyes from a lack of rest. Though he hadn't been in the water, he was still a mess compared to usual. Even the crooked grin he gave in return wasn't even half its usual wattage.

"She still asleep then?" Harry asked, though there was no need. Acacia gave a soft snore, almost as if in reply.

"Obviously," Harold scoffed, though the tender look on his face belied his tone. He reached down and brushed a few matted pieces of hair from her face, not missing the raised eyebrow he garnered from his friend.

"Did something happen between you?" Harry asked, leaning on the wall, "You're awfully close, now." He examined the two closely, looking for clues.

Harold shrugged, withdrawing his hand. "You can't go through something like this together without getting close," he replied after a few seconds, "And with Jack, Jim and Miss King gone... I'm not sure how she'll deal with that."

There was silence for a moment as they both thought. The night had been a tragedy on many scales and to everyone aboard. It was to many people around the world; most of the people aboard doubtless had relatives elsewhere. But it was these people right here that were his concern, Acacia and Harry.

"She's strong," Harry finally decided, "She'll make it. But where was Jack in all this? He was supposed to be there with you."

It physically hurt to say, "He was below unlocking the gates. They were still bloody closed."

That was when a blonde woman perked up, turning her attention to the men. "That man... was he dark haired and wearing an official looking coat?" she asked in a heavy Irish accent.

His attention captured, Harold nodded. "That was probably him," he admitted.

"He unlocked the gate my friends and I were trapped behind. He was very brave, he led us through half filled corridors up to the deck and got us onto the last boat," the woman told them, tears welling up in her eyes, "I can never tell you how grateful I am to him, he saved our lives."

With a gulp, Harold gave the woman a wobbly smile. "Thank you, ma'am," he said quietly, "Could you please tell me one more thing?" There was one question now that stuck out in his mind.

At her permission, he asked, "Did you see if he went down below again?"

The woman shook her head. "He went to the forward part of the ship. I do not know what happened to him after that," she told them, sympathy in her eyes, "I think he was looking for someone."

It was obvious to Harold who that would be. He looked down at Acacia and then back up at the woman, murmuring a quiet, "Thank you."

The words meant more than he could properly express, but she seemed to understand. With a weak smile, she lowered her head and laid back down.

The mystery solved, Harold put it to rest with his friend. 'He did what he felt he had to, and died at least one woman's hero,' he thought, a yawn ripping through him, 'May he rest in peace.'

Without much thought to it, Harold waved goodnight to Harry, laid down and fell asleep.

* * *

-EOC-

Not very action packed, and not very much romance if any, but I rather liked it. There'll probably be another chapter on the Carpathia and then the trials, and after that who knows what. Looking forward to this!

Will write for reviews.

-Thrae


	11. In Which Loss Is Dealt With

Disclaimer: I own nothing under copyright. See the prologue for the full disclaimer. Also, the song I used was "Wherever You Will Go" by The Calling. I do not own the song or have any links to it, or the band other than simply being a fan.

* * *

**In Which Loss Is Dealt With**

_"You will lose someone you can't live without,and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn't seal back up. And you come through. It's like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp."_

_― Anne Lamott_

It was the evening of April 16, 1912 when Acacia finally woke. She felt completely refreshed physically, almost bright eyed and bushy tailed no matter how unlike her that usually was.

Despite the extra energy however, she wasn't about to move; she was far too comfortable where she was. While whatever she was laying on was very hard, there was a nice firm, if short, pillow beneath her head and a fantastic source of heat in front of her. It smelled like seawater.

That woke Acacia immediately. Careful not to start, she opened her eyes and came face to chest with none other than Harold Bride. 'Oops,' she thought, noting how she had an arm and a leg flung over him.

It was something of a ballet to disentangle herself without waking Harold. A few times when moving his arm from her waist he stirred, but his eyes never opened. He was probably exhausted.

When she was finally detached, Acacia sat up and looked around the room. It was crowded with mainly women and children, though there were a few injured men scattered around. Some laid asleep on the tables, most on the floor, and a few sat wide awake on the chairs. They all appeared haunted and wary, even in unconsciousness.

The disastrous night before rushed back to Acacia and tears welled up in her eyes again. If it wasn't bad enough losing her mother not quite seven years and her aunt and three other cousins four years before, now three more people she cared for dearly were gone. What was it that Hades seemed to have against her?!

Screwing her eyes shut, Acacia nodded to herself. It was time to do as her cousin asked and celebrate her life rather than mourn her death. She had a feeling that Jim and Jack would agree with that course of action.

It was thrown from her mind when Harold murmured, "Finally, you're awake. You slept long enough, had Harry and me worried."

Acacia started, twisting around to face him. He looked relieved, though a little loopy, and leaned back on his elbows rather than sat up the whole way. It was probably easier than putting any strain on his leg muscles like sitting up would involve.

To accommodate him she half-copied his stance, laying on her side instead. "Twelve, fourteen hours isn't that bad after a stressful night," she pointed out.

"Think thirty-six, thirty-eight hours," Harold corrected her dryly, "But I see your point as well. You hadn't slept much the night before either."

Though she knew he didn't mean it like that, Acacia blushed. Once she knocked that thought out, she faced the reality of how long she slept... and shrugged. "I've been known to do that from time to time," she told him nonchalantly, "Once I was up for about three days at a party and then was knocked out for about a day and a half once I got home. My mum couldn't wake me at all, nearly took me to the hospital." It was a LAN party to be specific, the first of quite a few.

"... A three day party," Harold repeated, seemingly disturbed at the very notion.

"College students," Acacia said by way of explanation.

From the amused look on his face, Harold understood. "Anyway, it's past dinnertime but maybe the cooks would be kind enough to scrounge up something if you asked. You're probably very hungry," he told her, smiling when her stomach loudly agreed with him.

"Thanks for making me realize it," Acacia sighed, rolling her eyes, "I probably wouldn't have thought anything of it for another few hours if it were left up to me." Now that she thought of it, she hadn't eaten since lunch on the fourteenth.

She reached down and retrieved the granola bar from her thigh holster, opening it with a very loud crackling sound. To Acacia's empty stomach and unused palate it was better than the finest chocolate, addictingly rich and sweet. Before she knew it only crumbs were left in the wrapper, which she tucked back into the pouch with a pout.

"That reminds me," Harold announced, digging in his own pocket, "I do believe this belongs to you." He handed over a burnished steel handle- the stiletto he had borrowed to cut the ropes holding collapsible B to the officers' quarters.

Taking it, Acacia pressed the button to pop the blade out. It slid out, perhaps not as smoothly as before but still a surprise with its long exposure to freezing temperatures and salt water.

"Thank you," she breathed, stowing the blade and putting the item in its designated pouch.

"You're awake now. Would you tell me what happened when you left the area by the collapsible?" Harold asked softly. His eyes were gently compelling, asking but not demanding.

"So I am," Acacia observed before spilling her whole story. From the time that he left to unlash the boat to finding him here in the dining room, she gave every detail that she could remember. While telling him about Jack's fall and Jim's unconscious state were painful, she felt oddly lighter afterward. It was a catharsis she hadn't hoped for; though the memories still prickled her heart, it didn't feel like it was being repeatedly stabbed.

Throughout the tale, Harold looked amazed and pained at all the right moments. It took a moment for him to speak afterward, but when he did, it was a question: "Why did you not take the officers up on their offer? You probably would have gotten a cabin."

"I wanted to see how you were," Acacia replied simply before asking, "What happened to you after we separated?" Despite knowing already, it would be interesting to hear it from his point of view.

It was. Hearing of the terror of being below the overturned lifeboat and then his legs being sat on for most of the night made Acacia's heart pound in fear for him, despite that they were both safe now. Some things, he definitely tried to underemphasize. The attempt to convince him to allow amputation was one, while the other would be just how close to death he really came by the time the Carpathia was seen on the horizon. She distinctly remembered reading that one of the crew members was afraid Harold would die before help got there.

"You're one lucky bug," Acacia sighed, smoothing back his hair tenderly, "I'm so glad you're alive." That was putting it nicely; she had no idea how she would be managing if things had gone otherwise.

"Me too," Harold joked. He leaned, probably unconsciously, into her touch with a tiny smile.

Shaking her head at him, Acacia withdrew and got to her feet. "I'm going to try to find a bath or something," she told him, grimacing at the salt in her clothing. There was only one good point: her hair hadn't been touched by the water, so it wasn't crusty with sea salt.

Though he nodded, Harold wished her luck. When she got out of the dining room on legs wobbly from inactivity, Acacia saw what he meant- there were lines stretching down the hall for the bathtubs. In the end, she snagged the attention of a stewardess.

"Is there anyplace private that I can get a basin of water, a sponge or washcloth and some soap and hair care things?" Acacia requested in a low voice, eyes begging. She had the clothing in her bag, but without being clean before changing she would just feel disgusting again.

The young woman nodded. "Come with me, miss," she said, making an about face.

Hoping that she wouldn't be led any further down into the ship, Acacia followed obediently. She knew that the Carpathia wouldn't sink, but fear was irrational sometimes. If she had her way, she would never go on another ship again.

Not a few corridors down, the stewardess opened a door. There was a toilet, sink with soap and towels in the room, but nothing else. "I'll be right back with a washcloth," she promised, leaving Acacia at the open door.

Nervously, she looked into the room and tried not to think of how screwed she would be if the door got stuck. It was a tiny space with no window that Acacia wouldn't like even on land.

A finger tapped her on the shoulder, making her jump. Heart pounding, she turned around expecting the stewardess...

It was a disheveled and exhausted Caledon Hockley. "Ah, Miss Wood. I was hoping to speak to you," he said, trying and failing to put up the debonaire front he was so good at. It sent a shot of pleasure through Acacia that he too was miserable and unbalanced.

"Then speak," she ordered, like one would a dog.

Despite how he visibly twitched, Cal did. "We got off on a bad start, I feel, and I'm terribly sorry for everything that I've done," he told her, head bowed slightly in what looked to be remorse, "If you would allow me to make it up to you, I would in any way I could."

Acacia was taken aback. "What are you trying to say? Speak clearly," she insisted, hoping that she was mistaken for being so pessimistic.

She wasn't. "Marry me. It would be only a small reparation, I know. I'd never deny you or force you to do anything," he offered. He was regaining some of that horrible confidence that led to the whole mess between them. It was unacceptable.

Disbelief numbed Acacia's mind as she stared at him. "You can't be serious," she muttered, before saying loudly, "No. No! Your fiancee, my cousin, her lover and several of all our friends have died, and you're just trying to get your inheritance by marrying me! This is so disrespectful to them that I don't even have words, just no!" By the end of her answer she was almost shouting, anger burning like fire in her veins.

"You'll change your mind," Cal assured her. He nearly bumped into the returning stewardess on his way around the corner, disappearing from sight.

The woman looked from Acacia to the corner and back again. "Miss? I have the washcloth for you," she announced, holding up the clean white cloth.

Taking her eyes from the corner, Acacia accepted it with a small smile. "You won't say anything about this little confrontation, will you?" she requested, running a hand over her pulled back hair frustratedly.

"Yes, miss," the maid agreed, obviously reluctantly.

"Thank you. For your discretion and the washcloth," Acacia told her. She stepped into the washroom and closed the door behind her, but didn't lock it because of her fear about it getting stuck.

When she looked into the mirror, she grimaced. The strands of hair that had fallen out of her bun were limp and ratty, her face sallow and thinner than the last time she saw her reflection. The one thing that made Acacia not look like the living dead was that the bags under her eyes were very light and small. They would never go away, but this would do.

"Time for a sponge bath," she told her reflection. Thankfully warm water was available, so scrubbing the salt from her skin wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been.

Nearly an hour later, Acacia stepped out of the lavatory in fresh clothing and had even washed her hair with the coarse soap. To keep it from making her neck cold she had pinned it back up with her ivory hairstick and stuffed the black beanie over it. Feeling like a whole new person, it was easy to ignore those who stared curiously at her.

"You'll never believe what just happened to me," she deadpanned once back in the second class dining room, collapsing beside Harold again.

While he also gave her clothing an odd (and slightly jealous) look, he turned his attention to her face quickly. "What happened?" he asked with noticeable concern.

"Cal Hockley tried to convince me to marry him," Acacia announced, still bemused by the incident, "And I told him to bugger off." She blinked at the porthole above them, trying to figure out when her life turned into such a soap opera.

For a moment, Harold stared at her without comprehension. Then he spluttered, "You must be joking." The look he was giving her now was incredulous, though whether it was her actions or Hockley's that was causing it, she wasn't sure.

"I wish I was. I hate him," Acacia sighed, rubbing her temples with the thumb and middle finger of one hand, "Even worse, it half seemed like a threat when he said I'd change my mind. He was so sure, it was a little scary." What he could do to a person that doesn't even legally exist, she wasn't sure and didn't want to know.

"You have to be careful and keep your nose clean. He's got power, Acacia, enough to ruin almost anyone's life if he tries," Harold cautioned her, concern surfacing in his eyes, "I'm... not sure how far he'd be willing to go to change your mind, or what he'd do."

Feeling a little too optimistic for comfort, Acacia smoothed out a wrinkle that was forming on her friend's forehead. She really hoped he didn't mind. "I don't either. But I do know two things: I'm good at what I do, and I'm even better at getting through hard times," she stated, "Even if he does try something, he couldn't reach me if I went to Germany or India. As long as my friends stick with me." Somehow, she couldn't see Harold or Harry abandoning her.

From the slight tilt of his lips, it seemed the wireless operator was thinking the same thing. "You won't get rid of us that easily," he assured her.

The confirmation completely drove away the bad feelings from her run in with Hockley. "Thank you," Acacia smiled brightly. Feeling more than a little sentimental and daring, she reached over and wrapped her arms tightly around Harold.

At first he was a little awkward about it, considering that they were in a full dining room. Then he seemed to realize that no attention was being paid to two people in a shadowy corner and he allowed himself to respond. It felt wonderful to be in someone's arms again, safe and warm. That it was the arms of a man Acacia trusted and held dear was just a bonus as she allowed herself to draw out the embrace.

From the way Harold simply leaned his cheek on the top of her head and rubbed her back, he didn't mind. He seemed to know what was meant by it. They had a bond now, one that allowed them a better understanding of each other than just friends. It was almost like they were comrades in arms, the enemy being certain death in the North Atlantic.

"Have you wondered what it would be like if you hadn't sailed? If you were somewhere else now without a clue about the Titanic's fate?" Harold mumbled into her hair.

The question took Acacia by surprise. "It hadn't even occurred to me," she replied honestly, the fingers of one hand playing with his hair, "Being onboard the Titanic has changed my life so much, that I don't have an idea where I would be if not here. Of course, I wish that she hadn't sunk, that Victoria and- and Jack, were still here, but... that's how it happened. It'll only hurt more to think of the what-ifs."

It was almost frightening how right it felt to be in 1912, rather than 2012 where she belonged. The thought that she was born into the wrong century was more of an educated conclusion now that she'd had the chance to experience the past. Was it so wrong that she liked it better now than in her own time?

As she thought, still laying in the arms of what was probably the best friend she'd ever had, she didn't even notice someone coming up to them until he spoke. "Excuse me, I heard that one of you was the surviving wireless operator? Or that you both were, perhaps?" he asked, confusion and hope in his voice.

Rather embarrassed at being caught in such a position, Acacia jumped back into her own space before she knew she was. "Well, he's the official one," she blurted out, her face coloring.

"She's nearly as good as me, though," Harold continued, his cheeks flushed a pale pink.

The man, an officer that looked familiar, smiled slightly. He still looked anxious however, the skin around his eyes tight with worry and his stance rigid. "Would one of you possibly be willing to relieve our wireless operator?" he requested, "I know that you're tired and injured, but he's been up since the fourteenth and just passed out at the key. Whether he likes it or not, he needs help and sleep, and none of the rest of us aboard know how to use the thing or we'd do it."

Immediately, Harold nodded. "If you can help me get up there, I will," he volunteered.

The officer relaxed a little, looking about. When he saw a man standing about who was close to his height, he waved him over. "Excuse me sir, would you please assist me in helping the young man move?" he asked.

Before anything could be done, Acacia quickly grabbed the blankets and shoved them off to the side. To keep her hands busy, she began folding them as neatly as she possibly could. Hopefully no one would take them while she and Harold were gone.

Upon seeing the state of Harold's feet, the unknown man- probably a second or third class passenger from the Titanic- winced and nodded. "Of course," he announced, kneeling to Harold's side that was nearer the wall.

When the officer and the unknown man got Harold into a standing position, he muffled a cry of pain- he couldn't take any of his own weight yet. As it was, he looked a little woozy from being upright after such a long time laying and sitting.

It made Acacia wince in sympathy as she stowed their blankets as tightly in the corner as she could. While she had never had foot trouble per se, she had been on bed rest enough times to know a little of how that must have felt. At least he would recover, she knew that much.

"I'll open the doors," she volunteered, wanting to know where he would be. Acacia also hoped to meet Harold Cottam, the wireless operator who had been so diligent in his duty. In her own time she had been a personal hero, but now she hoped to convey at least a little of her gratitude toward him.

It was slow going through the halls and up the stairs. Sometimes they would need to stop, to give the officer or the other man a break for their arms, but they made it soon. Oddly, the wireless room aboard the Carpathia was toward the stern end of the ship. It didn't make much sense to Acacia, but she shrugged it off as she held open the door.

When she looked inside, she saw what was probably a young man with sandy blonde hair and his shoulders slumped over. His head was resting on the wooden table in front of him, and soft snores could be heard. It made Acacia smile a little.

While Harold was being settled into a chair, she took the opportunity to shake Cottam awake. "Hey," she called, "Time for you to head to bed."

Blearily, he opened his eyes and turned his head toward her. "What're you doing here?" he mumbled almost incomprehensibly, "Passengers shouldn't be here." The bags under his green eyes and the droop of the lids only hinted at the exhaustion he was probably feeling.

"I'm not some ordinary passenger," Acacia countered, pulling the young man back to sit up, "I'm here with another wireless operator so you can get some sleep. Now go on, you won't be any use to us if you pass out again." She smirked as she watched Cottam's eyes rove the others assembled in the tiny cabin. He reminded her a little of herself when sleep deprived, she realized, right down to how his eyes crossed a few times.

Seemingly satisfied, Cottam nodded. He forced himself up out of the chair but almost fell back into it, his balance gone. Though he stifled it, Acacia easily heard a giggle come from him.

Rolling her eyes, she moved to his side and offered a hand. This time, when he got up, she was able to keep him steady. Just like with her mother before she died, Acacia shifted his hands to rest on her shoulders and she put her own on his waist for maximum stability.

The officer opened a door that led to what seemed to be a cabin, with only a bed and a set of drawers in it. There was a laughing gleam in his blue eyes as he glanced at them, then went to help shift Harold into position in front of the apparatus.

Immaturely, Acacia stuck her tongue out at the man as she turned herself and Cottam carefully so that his back was to the opened door. Once that was done, she backed him into it the dark room and helped lower him onto the bed. Without reservation she removed his shoes, tie and hat, setting them on the chest, before shifting him so he laid fully on the mattress. Her job nearly done, she laid a blanket over him and moved his pillow under his head.

Though he was knocked out again, she whispered into his ear, "Thank you, Mr. Cottam." He wouldn't remember it, but just saying it to the man helped her. There would be time later to talk to him a little.

Quietly, Acacia left the room and closed the door behind her. The stranger was gone, but the officer remained behind with an expectant look about him. Once he had her attention, he went over what would need to be done- sending lists of names, personal messages from the rescued, and sending and receiving official messages. Everything else would have to wait.

Understanding, Acacia nodded with his every point. 'Hopefully I won't screw up if I need to take over,' she thought, giving a grim smile to the officer. With a little help from Harold, she was sure that she wouldn't do too badly.

"Send a message if you need me," Acacia said to him, squeezing his shoulder.

In his element now, Harold have her a cheeky grin. "I don't think thats going to happen anytime soon," he returned, before putting the headphones on.

Basically alone now, Acacia turned her attention back to the officer- whose name she had never gotten. "Is there anything I could possibly do to help?" she offered, "If you need a translator, I speak German, Hindi and Japanese, and I could probably communicate with Chinese passengers if needed." It would drive her crazy to be left to her own thoughts for too long.

"I think that everyone is asleep now," the officer answered regretfully, "If something comes up, then I'll be sure to find you. Would you require assistance to get back to the dining room?"

After a moment of trying to remember how she got there, Acacia nodded sheepishly. "Yes, please," she agreed.

Upon her taking the proffered arm, they set off again. "Thank you for offering. We're being run off our feet with all that's going on," the officer sighed wearily, "This is possibly the most hectic I've ever seen a ship."

"I'm just grateful for your ship coming to the rescue. I consider myself as being in immeasurable debt to you all and I'll do anything I can do to help," Acacia told him with a shrug. If the Carpathia had arrived much later, Harold would probably not be alive and even she may have succumbed to the cold. It was an unthinkable alternative.

Once back in the dining room, the officer nodded. "I'll send your husband down to you as soon as possible," he promised. He was gone before he could be corrected.

With a groan, Acacia smacked her forehead. "That man is going to be the death of me," she grumbled, though she wasn't really angry. More like exasperated, on the verge of annoyance.

When she got to the corner that she and Harold had occupied, she was pleased to see that the blankets were still there. Feeling strangely tired for having slept so long, Acacia laid down and wrapped herself in one of the blankets. The other, she kept in the corner in case Harold should come back down while she slept.

It was easy to fall asleep, despite the storm that had begun to rage.

* * *

The next morning Harold was still gone and Acacia was woken by Officer Fallohide. He was leading a trembling woman who appeared to be from south Asia, and from the sounds of it couldn't speak much English, if any. That was easy to sort out, since she did speak Hindi and was apparently from Delhi: a request to know if her brother or sister could be found.

Unfortunately, neither were when they perused the survivor's list. The woman was led back to where she came from in tears, wailing her grief like so many others. It was chilling.

That was how most of the day went- translating where possible, hanging out with the Titanic officers where she couldn't. Harold and Cottam were kept busy, though they didn't call for her assistance and so presumably were handling the wireless traffic alright. Not wishing to bother or distract them, Acacia kept out of the way.

A couple of times she saw Hockley, but it was always at a distance. They never ran into each other, but it was probably because Acacia fled the room every time she noticed him in it. While it made her feel like a coward, she reasoned that it was probably for the best. The less he saw her, the less fodder he had to use against her.

Of course, her case wasn't helped much by the Carpathia's crew. They were always referring to Harold as her husband or fiance, though Acacia always corrected them. The knowing looks that they gave were rather irritating, and they always went back to the incorrect conclusion by the next time she encountered them.

The stories that were swapped between the survivors were interesting to hear, when she could. Some she was familiar with from her own time. Others, not so much. Apparently her cousin's love affair had become a legend of its own, though only thirteen other people had heard her tell even a part of the real story. The rumors stated everything from being childhood friends that gradually fell in love, to simply sleeping together. Acacia wasn't sure which she preferred, considering what Victoria was like.

She heard her own name mentioned several times, with mild surprise. The tales were just as tall then, she realized with a snicker every time she would hear a new one. Even better, no one could even agree who her leading man was: depending on the rumor, it was Harold (the most common culprit), Harry, or even poor Will Murdoch. Even Jack's name came up a few times, though that was mainly from those who remembered him from the third class party or the last few minutes before he slipped off the fantail.

Once there was even a debate between two passengers who couldn't decide whether it was Harry or Harold who she was having a torrid, scandalous love affair with. Acacia's response when an answer was asked of her: "Neither. I respect Harry far too much to make life so difficult for him, and Harold and I are simply very close friends. Now if you'll excuse me, please." She then left the room as fast as she could without making anyone suspicious, before bursting into laughter in the corridor. If they only knew...

It was late afternoon when Acacia came across a piano, though it seemed no one felt like playing. She couldn't blame them. Unlike them however, she needed to do  
stupid and artsy to help get everything out. Since she didn't have her laptop, or pencil and paper, she decided that music was the next best thing.

It had been years since she last tinkered with a piano, but the notes for a few songs came easily to her. It was like riding a bicycle; even if her conscious kind couldn't pin the notes, her body remembered after a little practice. The tunes she played were cheerful childhood songs, like Mary Had a Little Lamb and Ring Around the Rosie. Other than a few songs she had converted from the rock and alternative genres, that was the extent of her knowledge.

It was one of those few more mature songs that her fingers began to play without her knowledge. Only when it was nearly time to start singing did she even notice. Figuring that she may as well, she began to croon out the lyrics:

_"So lately, I've been wonderin'_

_Who will be there to take my place._

_When I'm gone, you'll need love_

_To light the shadows on your face._

_If a great wave should fall,_

_It would fall upon us all._

_And between the sand and stone_

_Could you make it on your own?_

_If I could, then I would,_

_I'll go wherever you will go._

_Way up high or down low,_

_I'll go wherever you will go_

_And maybe, I'll find out,_

_The way to make it back someday._

_To watch you, to guide you_

_Through the darkest of your days._

_If a great wave should fall,_

_It would fall upon us all._

_Well I hope there's someone out there_

_Who can bring me back to you._

_If I could, then I would,_

_I'll go wherever you will go._

_Way up high or down low,_

_I'll go wherever you will go._

_Runaway with my heart,_

_Runaway with my hope,_

_Runaway with my love._

_I know now, just quite how,_

_My life and love might still go on:_

_In your heart and your mind,_

_I'll stay with you for all of time._

_If I could, then I would,_

_I'll go wherever you will go._

_Way up high or down low,_

_I'll go wherever you will go._

_If I could turn back time,_

_I'll go wherever you will go._

_If I could make you mine,_

_I'll go wherever you will go..."_

When she was finished, there was a smattering of applause from the others in the room. Sniffles and even outright bawling could be heard easily, and it was plain to see why. It was a highly emotional love song and tragedy all in one, possibly even an unintended attempt to comfort herself and those around her.

Whatever inspired Acacia to play, it knew what it was doing. She felt immensely better and lighter, and from the looks in the eyes she saw around her, so did they. Or, at the very least there was more hope that things would be better; that those lost weren't suffering and were still with them in a way.

Little did she know, the ventilation shafts carried her song down to the very same man that had been hauled aboard unconscious. He smiled a little in his unconsciousness.

* * *

After months and months, a new chapter! :D I have my godsister to thank for the accidental inspiration, as she gave me a book on the Titanic for my late Christmas present. It's called "101 Things You Thought You Knew About the Titanic... But Didn't!" by Tim Maltin with Eloise Aston. It's a fascinating, but slightly difficult read for those who haven't already been through the trial transcripts half a dozen times.

Thanks for sticking with me and giving this pet project of mine a chance! Please tell me what your thoughts are on it!

-Thrae


	12. In Which the Mystery Man Awakens

Many thanks to the sole follower of this little story, maisey jay! Please, if you want to see where it goes, let me know why. Feedback can be extremely helpful in the writing process!

Also, many thanks to my first reviewer! Nena, I have no idea why people are so adverse to tell me their opinions either. I was worried about it being bad writing, thanks for the encouragement!

Disclaimer: I own nothing under copyright. See the prologue for the full disclaimer. Also, I do not own Carlos Hurd and mean no disrespect to the man himself or his descendants.

* * *

**In Which The Mystery Man Awakens and the Carpathia Docks**

_"Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened."_

_-Dr. Seuss_

Acacia felt stupid for it, but she was terrified of reaching New York. What if there was someone there to retrieve her who she had to pretend to know? What if- Eros, help her- it was someone else who had been tossed back a century? At least on the Carpathia, she knew exactly what was happening and what to do.

Trying to keep herself busy, she finally visited the wireless room on the morning of the eighteenth- the day they would dock. By then, the lists had been sent and it was only passenger and official messages that were being transmitted. They could deal with a five to ten minute interruption.

When she got to the wireless room however, she saw that it was less of an interruption and more of a reason for a welcomed break. Though Cottam appeared less exhausted, Harold's under eye baggage was getting bigger- they had both been working twelve hour days. When Acacia walked in, they were both yawning and mumbling about the backlog of messages to be sent.

"That is indeed a huge pile," she agreed after a glance at it. There was paper all over the table, huge piles of it that reached over their shoulders.

Too tired to be very surprised, they both turned their attention to Acacia. "More messages?" sighed Cottam, scrubbing at his cheeks with the heels of his hands.

At about the same time, Harold grinned brightly. "I was wondering what happened to you," he told Acacia in almost a reprimanding tone, "Two days of barely being out of each other's sight and then suddenly you're nowhere to be found!"

Though she didn't do anything too bad, if it was bad at all, she still felt guilty. "Sorry, I didn't mean to ditch you," Acacia apologized, flushing a little, "Let me make it up to you?" She fingered the wrapped sandwiches she had shoved into the pockets of the blue wool pea coat she had been given.

"And how do you plan on doing that?" teased Harold, leaning back on the chair to see her better.

In response, Acacia pulled out the sandwiches. "Roast beef, lettuce and tomato on sourdough," she announced primly, "All yours for the price of forgiveness." She gave one to Cottam, but held back the one meant for Harold with a smirk.

Almost as soon as it had left her hand, Cottam tore into the wrappings and took a big bite out of the sandwich. With a moan, he advised Harold, "I'd do it if I were you. The sandwich is worth it." They must not have been eating very frequently or very much, if he were anything to go by.

"I was going to anyways," Harold replied dryly, watching his friend tear into what must have been their breakfast. Turning his attention back to Acacia, he said, "All's forgiven. Now if you'll please hand me that...?" He was eyeing the paper wrapped sandwich hungrily.

"I was going to anyways," Acacia echoed with a smile, handing over the food. She took her own sandwich out and leaned on the door frame to munch on it.

For a few minutes they were all silent as they ate. The two men were seemingly too hungry for words, while Acacia was busy enjoying the first solid food she had felt like eating since the granola bar. In the days between, only soup had been able to settle into her tender stomach.

Once finished, she stuffed the wrapping paper in her pocket and crossed the room to stand beside Cottam. "We've met, but I'm pretty sure you don't remember me. You passed out as soon as you hit the bed," she snickered, "I'm Acacia Wood. I helped Harold send the distress signals that you received."

The reminder of the incident made Cottam flush. "Harold Cottam, miss. I'm awfully sorry you had to see me like that," he replied, holding out a hand. He looked rather surprised when she shook it, but shrugged it off quickly.

"Don't be," Acacia waved it off, "Actually, besides seeing Harold and giving you both food, I came up here to thank you for everything you've done. You're as much a hero as Captain Rostron, in my book." In a show of pure gratitude, she leaned down and kissed Cottam squarely on the cheek. His actions were worth a whole lot more than that, but she had possibly already crossed the threshold of what was appropriate.

When she glanced at him on her way to the other side of the table, she saw that Cottam looked highly embarrassed. He put a hand to the cheek she had pecked him on, looking a bit bemused by the whole thing. It almost made Acacia laugh.

"And you, are just as much of one for working with me to get them here," she announced, and gave Harold a kiss on the cheek as well. Then, figuring she had done enough damage, Acacia left the room. At least neither of them protested, that would have been more than a little embarrassing.

On her way down to the second class dining room however, she was hailed by a stranger. "Excuse me miss," he called, waving a hand at her, "Could I have a word?" He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties at the most, with mousy brown hair and a luxurious handlebar mustache a few shades darker and thick glasses. From his attire- a brown suit with a light blue shirt and darker blue tie- he appeared to be second class, and certainly an original passenger of the Carpathia, as his clothing actually fit.

"Well, that depends on who's asking," Acacia replied. She walked over obligingly, looking up at him with interest. Carpathia passengers and those rescued didn't associate much with each other that she had seen.

"My name is Carlos Hurd, I'm a reporter for the the St. Louis Post-Dispatch and New York World," he introduced himself, "I'm trying to get the real story together and I was wondering if you would be willing to answer a few questions." He peered at her with hopeful hazel eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm not quite prepared to talk about the whole thing yet," Acacia replied, shaking her head. She wasn't sure if she ever would be.

"Then can you please clear up a few rumors, if you know the answers?" Hurd persisted.

"That much, I can do," Acacia agreed after a moment of thought. She really hoped that she wouldn't regret this. The smile she was given didn't make her feel much better.

Hurd whipped out a notebook and pencil, readying himself to take notes. "Do you know if a woman really had a love affair with one of the crew members?" he asked.

Of course, it was the personal questions that would be asked. With a sigh, Acacia nodded. "Yes, there was more than one actually," she replied. Memories of Victoria flitting about the stateroom, glowing with happiness, made her need to swallow the lump that developed in her throat. She wished she could see her dear cousin again one last time...

"Really? Could you possibly give me names?" asked Hurd, scribbling in his notepad.

"Of the two affairs that I know of, three of the people involved died in the sinking," Acacia told him, half avoiding the request, "I'd rather respect their privacy, if you don't mind. I don't think the only survivor would want her name plastered all over the papers, especially not so soon." She hoped that her statement would be taken at face value. The last thing she needed was to be dragged into the limelight and branded as some scarlet woman.

"Of course," Hurd agreed readily, "Now, is it true that one of the officers abandoned his post before the ship went down?"

It was easy for the informed person to see where he got that question from. It was just the position of the crew member he had gotten wrong. "Not that I know of," Acacia denied flatly.

"And the band? Do you remember what they last played?" questioned Hurd. He was obviously expecting one of two answers: "Nearer My God to Thee", or "Autumn."

"I was never in the vicinity while they were playing. I only got onto the boat deck maybe ten minutes before she went completely under," Acacia informed. While she knew that it was probably "Nearer My God to Thee", she had no reason to say so. Especially not to a reporter.

Hurd gave her an inquisitive, searching look. It was the kind of look one gets when they see something oddly shaped on the ground, only to realize it was a fifty dollar bill. Hopefully he didn't realize that he had found a hundred instead, so to speak.

With bated breath, Acacia waited for the deciding question. It was make it or break it time.

In the end, he must have decided that it was just a five and he was seeing things. "I think that's all for now, ma'am, other than your name," he said.

"Acacia Wood," she replied, barely holding in the sigh of relief. Before Hurd could ask, she added tiredly, "Yes, the author of the trashy romance novels that everyone seems to have fallen in love with for some reason."

Blinking, he informed her, "Actually, I was going to ask if you had another mythology book coming out. I find your ideas about the Norse gods and Valhalla quite thought provoking." He seemed a little confused about her choice in words.

"Thank the gods, someone who reads the good stuff," Acacia sighed, rolling her eyes upward in thanks, "At the moment, I don't have plans for anything aside of getting into New York in one piece. I'll think about everything else after that, hopefully with the company of something much stronger than ale. Now if you'll please excuse me..." She gave him a small smile and made to slide past him.

"Thank you for your time, Miss Wood," Hurd called.

In response, Acacia simply waved over her shoulder with a quick look back at him so as not to be considered rude. Busy doing that, she literally ran right into someone. "I'm sorry, I wasn't looking-" she began, but her apology fell through when she saw who it was, "Oh. It's you."

For the second time since the disaster, she had run into Caledon Hockley. He was looking much better than the last time, eyes sharp and a charming smile pasted onto his face as he looked down at her. "Hello, Acacia," he said genially, "I hope that you're faring better than the last time we talked?" If she didn't know better, she would think he was honestly concerned. It was sickening.

"Until I saw you again, yes," Acacia replied bluntly.

Ignoring her rudeness, Hockley asked quietly, "Have you thought on my proposition at all?"

She didn't allow any fear to show as she arrogantly raised an eyebrow. "No, I haven't," Acacia replied honestly. It's not like his idea was worth thinking about.

Obviously trying to control his temper, Hockley closed his eyes with a muttered prayer.

Taking the opportunity presented, Acacia tried to pass him by. She was blocked by his larger body however, as he had noticed her moving. "If you don't mind, I have somewhere to be," Acacia told him sternly.

Before Hockley could refute that, a blessedly familiar voice interrupted. "Ah, Miss Wood, there you are," called Officer Fallohide from behind her, "We've been looking for you everywhere, there's this chap that nobody can understand a word from and we thought you might be able to." When he was too close to not have to acknowledge the other man, he nodded politely to him.

Grateful for the escape, Acacia nodded. "Lead the way," she told Officer Fallohide, only giving Hockley a sweet little smile and wave before she was led away.

A few corridors away, they stopped in front of the first class dining room. "I think you'd best stick around an area with lots of people," the officer advised, running a hand through as much of his hair as possible without unseating his hat, "That man has been asking about you all day, and not in a friendly way either." He grimaced as his hand caught in a tangle.

"Thanks for the rescue, I've been having trouble with him since the twelfth," Acacia sighed in relief. If she could go the rest of her life without ever again hearing the name Caledon Hockley, it would be far too soon.

"I'd best head off. Take care," Officer Fallohide wished, before disappearing around a corner.

Deciding that she had better take his advice, Acacia entered the dining room. It wasn't like she had any more reason to be in the second class one than the first. They would be docking later that night, so it wasn't like she would need the blankets again at any rate.

The one person she could recognize was Ruth DeWitt-Bukater, the formerly frosty dowager now hunched over and wilted. It made Acacia's heart ache for her. No one should ever have to bury their child, so to speak, even if the girl was actually alive.

While Rose had been making herself scarce, she had survived if the movie was correct. Acacia refused to think of the alternative. While she didn't know the elegant young woman very well, life was life to her.

That brought thoughts of the Cartmells and Dawson and Will and Jim and all the rest to mind, leaving Acacia squeezing her eyes closed against the tears that threatened. She turned her back to the room, resting her forehead against the nearest wall. There was no way she was going to cry now, not when there was still so much to do.

One name stood out above all the others running through her mind: Jack. John George Phillips. The wireless operator who Acacia had hero worshipped for seventeen years and then fallen in love with so quickly. The man who had fallen to his death three days ago and seemingly taken her heart with him.

It was unthinkable: she had sworn off men (and women) years ago, and yet here she was, still in love with a dead man. The irony was unmistakable.

'Perhaps I should become a hermit. I seem to ruin everything I touch,' thought Acacia vindictively, angry with herself. While logically she knew that it wasn't her fault, some part of her blamed herself. It was the same part that darkened when her mother became ill and became more and more vicious toward the rest of her with each death that came.

Idly, she wondered how much more she could take before she broke. While she could be naive sometimes, Acacia was certainly not stupid. It was only the responsibilities laid on her, pure stubbornness, and more self-delusion than was healthy that had gotten her through everything so far. Now that she had lost almost everything dear to her, she wondered how she would make it.

Two faces swam before her eyes, making her smile a little. If nothing else, she had Harry and Harold.

* * *

Deeper in the ship, a man who had been out cold for three days began to stir. His whole body felt heavy and it was a struggle to move at all. Even his eyelids felt like they were glued shut, which he was sure wasn't normal.

Then again, what was normal for him? He was drawing a blank on everything.

When he was finally able to open his eyes, confusion washed over him. What was this place? The walls were plain and whitewashed, and only two small rounded windows let in the dim light of day, though light fixtures lit the room well.

He let out a groan and slowly brought up a hand to rub his aching head. What happened and why did it feel like his head got trampled by a horse? For that matter, why did the entire back of his body hurt? No matter how much he wanted to know, he kept coming up with nothing.

A man hurried around a curtain, a relieved smile on his face. "You're finally awake!" he cheered, coming over to the bedside, "We've been waiting for you to wake up for three days!"

Three days? "That's an awfully long time," the patient mused, before asking "What could have happened to make me sleep so long?"

The man, who from the way he examined his patient was a doctor, started. "You don't remember?" he asked, frowning as he took the young man's pulse.

The patient thought for a moment. "Well, I remember being very cold," he said slowly, "And there was a woman... Or at least I think it was a woman, as I'm sure that men don't wear necklaces like that or smell like some sort of flower... And a song." He tried remembering further back, but only came up with the voice of an old man saying, "Thank you, Sparks." He shrugged, allowing the doctor to check his breathing with a stethoscope.

Once that was finished, the doctor stuck a thermometer in his patient's mouth. "You don't remember who you are?" he asked, surprised.

When he tried to think of who he was, all that came was a sharp pain in his head. With a wince he shook his head. When he was free of the thermometer, he replied, "I do remember the voice of an old man, he seemed to be referring to me as Sparks." That was a possibility, right?

"Sparks... yes, that's probably your surname," the doctor agreed, setting his instruments aside in favor of taking a seat, "Does a first name come to mind at all?"

When he tried thinking on it, the patient flinched from another spurt of pain. This time both of his hands came up to clutch the back of his head. Why was he not remembering anything!

Seeming to sense the young man's troubles, the doctor let out a slow breath. "Let's try a guessing game," he suggested once the visible signs of pain were on their way out.

Figuring that he may as well, the patient nodded.

"I'll say a name, and you'll say if it sounds familiar. Do you think you can do that?" asked the doctor patiently.

Another nod.

"Alright then... William," the doctor tested.

After a moment of thought, the patient shook his head. "It rings a bell, but... not the right one, if you get me," he explained.

The doctor accepted this. "George?" he suggested.

"Same," was the response. It was the same thing for James, Joseph, Charles, Edward and Herbert, though the name John rang louder than the rest.

When the doctor finally tried the name Harold however, the proverbial gong struck. "That name was important to me," the patient blurted out, his brow wrinkled in his attempts to remember anything at all, "I don't know if it was mine or not, but it sounds right." He shrugged helplessly, overwhelmed by the amount of things he should know but didn't.

"Harold Sparks... it sounds like a fine name," the doctor agreed, relieved that he now had something to call the young man by. They had to put his name on the survivor list, after all.

The newly deemed Harold Sparks nodded. It definitely sounded familiar, though he had a strange feeling that it wasn't entirely correct. Perhaps Harold was his middle name? That didn't seem right either. Frustrated, he decided to stick with Harold Sparks until he regained some more memory.

"It looks like you're in perfect health, other than your memory and your entire back being one giant bruise," the doctor announced approvingly, "Until we get to New York you'll be under my care, but after that you'll be free to go your own way, Mr. Sparks."

It sounded reasonable to the patient. Perhaps he had family, or at least friends, in this New York place they were headed to. He could only pray.

* * *

The storm still raged even as the Carpathia entered New York harbor. Despite that, and the many yachts and other boats crowding the harbor and full of reporters, it was the most beautiful thing Acacia had ever seen. Land, at last.

She stood on the forward well deck as they sailed in, alone but for her own thoughts and the vultures shouting their questions through megaphones. As she was the only person in sight, they were of course directed at her. With a grim little smile at the reporters, she escaped inside.

Of course, that would only be a temporary solution. Acacia couldn't stay on the Carpathia forever and anyways wanted to be on land again as soon as possible.

Inside was crowded, as always, but better than the driving rain. Every face she looked at was relieved, anxious and hopeful all at once, grateful to have reached New York at all. The shadows that had haunted them all were, at the moment, much lesser than before. They would never go away, but they would fade with time. That much, Acacia was sure of.

Before everyone dispersed, she had several people to find. The first she encountered of those was young Alfred Rush and the Goldsmiths, who were waiting quietly in a corridor for their turn to disembark. It was Frankie who saw her first, smiling brightly and waving.

"Hello all," Acacia greeted them, giving Mrs. Goldsmith a smile before she reached down to ruffle Frankie's hair, "You excited as I am about getting onto land?"

Mrs. Goldsmith nodded furtively. "Oh yes. I hope to never be on a ship again," she agreed, shivering at the thought.

"I'll drink to that," Acacia said with a wry smile, holding up an imaginary glass in a toast. She then turned to Alfred and held out a piece of paper and a pencil, requesting, "Would you give me an address I can reach you at? I'd like to keep in touch."

Using the wall, he scribbled down an address in Detroit and exchanged it and the pencil for Acacia's address in Oregon. "It'll probably be a bit before I get there, so don't worry if you don't hear from me right away," she assured him, putting the paper in her pants pocket.

"Same. I don't know how we'll get to Detroit though, everything went down with the ship..." Alfred frowned, obviously beginning to worry.

"Try the Salvation Army," suggested Acacia. A few memories came to mind, of food and clothing and sometimes even housewares that she and her mother had been given when they were struggling to make it. If any organization could help, it would be them.

Mrs. Goldsmith nodded, thinking it over, while Alfred just kept frowning in thought. Frankie didn't seem to get what all the fuss was about, so he seemed to have left it up to his mother to worry about.

Acacia went to move past them, but her thigh holster got caught on someone's carpet bag on the other side of the aisle. 'Wait...' she thought, untangling herself. It came to her in a flash and she unfastened the plastic bag from where it was buckled to her thigh. Rummaging through it, she tugged a few bills out of one of the stacks in the bag.

Mrs. Goldsmith didn't seem to be the type to accept charity, and Alfred was by far too proud to even think of doing it. That left one option. "Hey, Frankie," Acacia whispered over the slight noise in the corridor.

He looked slightly up at her with innocent blue eyes, his head tilted to the side curiously.

"Give this to your mum when you're alone," Acacia instructed, stuffing the bills into the little boy's coat pocket, "Tell her that it's a gift from me." Once she was sure he had the message down, she sealed the bag and fastened the straps around it again. With a last ruffle of the boy's hair, which made him cringe, she came up to her unimpressive full height again.

"We'll see each other again eventually, I'm sure," Acacia said cheerfully to Alfred, drawing him out of his thoughts, "I don't think that we'd have met just to go our separate ways forever." Well, if she didn't die or return to her own time in the meanwhile. The chances of that were slim, though.

The thought seemed to bolster Alfred up a bit. "I like the sound of that," he agreed.

"Until then," Acacia said in farewell, pushing herself up on her toes to kiss his cheek. With a last smile and wave to Mrs. Goldsmith (who looked rather amused) and Frankie (who waved animatedly) she disappeared into the crowd.

The next person on the list, she found with all the rest. The officers of both ships were on the bridge at the moment, watching in solemn silence as they entered New York Harbor. Officer Fallohide had a grim look, while Lightoller appeared tired and sad, and Harry seemed remarkably lost. The last had never been across the pond, if Acacia remembered right; this whole journey was a completely new experience for him.

For a few moments she stood in silence with them, observing the sights that two thirds of the Titanic's passengers would never have the opportunity to behold. Lady Liberty was an especially awe inspiring sight; Acacia had never seen it before, as this was her first time being in New York. The dock came slowly into view through the darkness and pouring rain, all the land behind it crowded with people and vehicles clogging the street nearby. They were all waiting for the survivors, and many for friends and relatives who would never arrive.

They steamed past the Cunard docks to the White Star Line, where they stopped for a moment to lower the lifeboats. The last of the great ship left above the Atlantic. The mere thought was enough to bring a mist back to Acacia's eyes.

Stubbornly, she blinked away the moisture. 'Not now,' she reprimanded herself, 'Not yet.'

The grim task finished, the Carpathia then slid into her own berth with only a tiny wash of water. In a trice, the engines were signalled off and everything became still. "It's time, men," announced Captain Rostron, "I'm not sure if you've heard that you're all required to report to the White Star Line offices first thing?" Upon seeing Acacia, he added, "Besides you, Miss Wood. You shouldn't be up here anyhow."

She gave him a sad little smile. "I was coming up to find them," she excused herself.

Harry lifted up an arm and slung it over her shoulders, a comforting weight. "Is there any way that we can get in touch with you?" he asked tiredly, "I'm sure there'll be an investigation and... well, it would be the best thing to show a united front, I think."

Lightoller, who was usually so quick to emphasize that Acacia wasn't a part of them, nodded in agreement. It was not only surprising, but a little heartwarming. "Like it or not, you'll probably be one of the star witnesses, like the rest of us and Mr. Bride," he sighed.

Sympathy rose up in Acacia as she remembered that Lightoller would be fielded over 1600 questions in the British inquiry alone. As the only surviving senior officer, it was to be expected. Whether that number included repeats and rephrasing, however, she wasn't sure she wanted to take a guess at.

"If nothing else, I'll see you before or after the first hearing," Acacia promised. As it was, she had no idea whatsoever where she would end up staying while in New York.

It felt strange, knowing that she was going to be parted from her only friends in this time. Scary, might even be an accurate word. For the first time, she was entirely left to her own devices in 1912 with no guarantees or limits. Acacia couldn't even count on keeping her life.

To keep herself from possibly attaching herself to Harry and not letting go, she shrugged off his arm. With a smile that she didn't feel, she hurried out of the bridge and back to the wireless room.

For the same reasons, she kept her visit with Harold and Cottam short. It was a little more personal, with Harold receiving a kiss on the forehead as had become their thing, but Acacia fled the room soon after. She couldn't risk giving into her fear of being alone.

And then, it happened. As she was filing down a corridor toward the exit, Acacia swore she caught sight of a face that she had never hoped to see again. "Jack?" she called, blinking as she turned around.

The corridor she thought she had seen him in was empty. "Dear Psyche, I'm going mad," Acacia muttered to herself. With a sigh, she rubbed her temples as she instructed herself, "He's gone, Lils. He's gone, and he's not coming back. Get over it already."

With a determined nod, which did nothing to help push back the tears that moistened her eyes, she continued down the hall. The crowd thinned out as more and more people disembarked, and Acacia managed to get down the gangplank right at the end of the tiny group of second class passengers who had survived. Even now, they were separated by social hierarchy.

The reporters and photographers yelled for their story, and lights shone on the crowd to help survivors find their relatives. Others gathered there begged to know whether their loved ones were among the saved. A sharp pain tore through Acacia's heart as she looked into the hopeful faces; most of those who were being waited for, would never come.

It was at the edge of the crowd, near the street, that an elderly man approached her. He was probably her father's age, entirely grey haired with a black bowler and brown suit on. "Excuse me, are you Acacia Wood?" he asked politely. His deep brown eyes went from her hair to her blouse to her pants before her face again, examining her more thoroughly.

Acacia nodded tiredly. All she wanted to do was get to someplace with a bathtub and a bed she could use. Still, she resolved to be polite to the man.

"If you'll follow me, please, I've been asked to drive you to your flat," he told her.

Surprised, Acacia thought back to the Titanic and her negligible amount of contact with Eros. Did he do this? Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, she took the offered arm. "How did you know what I look like?" she asked once the thought struck her.

"The man described you to the letter- reddish gold hair short around your face, and probably wearing black trousers and a purple sweater, Miss, with an odd sort of piercing below your lip," the old man answered, "Though he had mentioned that you would most likely come out with the crew. Took me a bit by surprise when you were with the second classers, but we can't know everything, I suppose." He led her to a waiting car and opened the door, assisting her inside.

Acacia plopped onto the cushioned seat with a heavy thump. She felt oddly off balance, like she was having a vertigo attack, but different. It felt like the ground was moving back and forth, but really it was her swaying- a potent combination of sea legs and exhaustion. It almost drove out the question of who had told the man this.

When he climbed into the driver's seat, she asked. The response made her smile slightly: "A Greek chap, blonde and curly haired, very handsome too. Said his name was Eros Katsaros."

There was no way Acacia could avoid smiling, if she wanted to. Trust Eros to help her out when she needed it the most. 'Note to self: set up a shrine to him when I get home,' she thought gratefully.

The ride wasn't very long, thankfully, once they got out of the crowd. That alone took several minutes and a symphony of honks for bystanders to get out of his way. Acacia noticed instantly that they were only one car in a long line of those lucky few who had collected their passengers.

It made her think of all those people who would be left waiting until it was obvious that no one had been left aboard. They would cry and wail, then go home, and live with a hole in their heart for the rest of their days. Or multiple holes, in some sad cases. It was a feeling Acacia wished on no one, that she knew far too well.

Faces paraded before her eyes in the darkness of the taxi's back seat, and the rain hitting the bonnet was their voices. Hannah, who had committed suicide in eighth grade after she was left paralyzed in an accident. Sam, shot in the forehead by his best friend right in front of Acacia. The two students who had been killed in a murder-suicide on the campus of UW, when she attended a school that shared their campus. David, a victim to lung cancer. Davie, killed by a driveby aimed at the wrong door. Grandma, whose body just gave out on her. Grandpa, who only lasted three days in hospice care. Linda, Stevie and Angie, victims of a drunk driver. Ashley, whose anorexia finally took her to the great beyond. Acacia's mother, who was murdered by her best friend, ending a thirty seven year battle with an addiction to prescription muscle relaxers. And now, all those who she had gotten to know and love aboard the Titanic.

It wasn't fair! Acacia resisted the urge to take out her sudden anger on the upholstery- it wouldn't help her at all. Not when it wasn't herself she was angry for, it was all those who didn't have the chance to be angry. For her darling cousin, and the life she would never have with the handsome Sixth Officer.

It wasn't only Acacia who had suffered- life had been cruel to Victoria as well. And now it had given her the ultimate "Fuck you," in killing her not even five hours after she got engaged. When they had convened in the room after the iceberg hit, the redhead had been so happy and blurted out the news as fast as she could. It was why Jim had been so nervous and they had disappeared from the party: he had been thinking on it, decided, and then proposed to her at the same place she had tossed him over her shoulder.

While she had accepted him joyously, she would never have the chance to marry him. They would never get to have a first dance, or morning cuddles that would inevitably turn into naughty fun, or hold their first child. Hell, their children don't have the opportunity to exist! Jim would never become a captain, and Victoria wouldn't get to experience one of the most exciting but terrible times possible to be a nurse. They would never see their children grow and get married, or spoil grandchildren, or grow old until their bodies finally wore out on them.

Acacia wondered if she should curse the deities who brought them to 1912, or thank them. They were all gone: Jack, Victoria, Jim, Will, the Cartmells, Dawson, and so many others. Then again while three quarters of their little quartet had died, they had experienced so much before then! They had been on the most famous ship in history aside of perhaps the Mayflower, found love, and had the adventure of their lives. As far as living went, they had succeeded spectacularly at doing more than just existing.

It could have been five minutes or five hours before the taxi stopped in front of a nice looking building. The place wasn't outlandishly opulent, but it wasn't exactly a Motel 8 either with a wide, whitewashed facade and leaded glass doors. Light shone from inside, warming Acacia a little, as she read, "2012 Kismet Lane."

The car door opened and the driver helped her out with a concerned look. "Will you be alright, Miss?" he asked carefully.

Though she may have been accidentally lying, Acacia nodded. "How much, sir?" she asked hoarsely. Blinking, she only then realized that she had been crying but did nothing to wipe away her tears. The rain disguised them well enough.

The driver shook his head. "Mr. Katsaros already paid me, Miss. You go on in and have a better night than it has been so far," he urged gently.

"Thank you," Acacia whispered with a tremulous smile. She then turned about and shuffled into the lobby of the building. Just like the outside, it was pleasant and classy without being pretentious: a stone fireplace dominated the lobby, surrounded by groups of plush green chairs and a cherry wood desk that matched the floor.

Behind the desk, a red haired man came out of a daze when he heard the doors open. Upon seeing who it was, however, a smile brightened his face. "Miss Wood, we were wondering when you were coming back! Is Miss King with you?" he inquired genially, his thin mustache twitching excitedly.

A pang went through her chest. "She was lost. We were on the Titanic," Acacia managed to force out of her mouth.

The man's eyes widened and he looked ashamed of himself. "I'm so sorry, Miss. Sometimes I speak without thinking, I didn't mean any harm. Is there anything I can get you?" he offered.

"An extra key to my flat would be nice," Acacia admitted, "I lost mine in the sinking. And a hand up there, if you don't mind? I'm dead tired and don't want to risk falling asleep in the hall." Not to mention that she had no idea where said flat was. The last thing she needed was to screw up and accidentally end up in the wrong apartment.

"Of course. Do you have any bags?" the young man asked.

She shook her head. All she had was the clothing on her back and the odds and ends in her thigh holster. It was a sobering feeling.

The young man nodded and got up from the desk after rummaging about in it a moment. He came out with a brass key, which he set in Acacia's hand. He then offered an arm, and once she took it he headed over to a set of elevator doors she hadn't noticed in a slight alcove.

A boy who looked to be about sixteen opened the gates. For a moment he looked curiously at the two, before he got busy. At the young man's command, he closed the doors after them and set the elevator to go to the fifth floor.

It almost made Acacia feel sick looking at the floors slowly replace each other, so she took shallow breaths and closed her eyes. 'I just need to get inside and then I'll get in a bath, go to bed and be fine,' she assured herself. Her stomach roiled at the thought of a bath versus a shower, as it had since she was ten. Then again, it's not like she had a choice in the matter.

The elevator stopped and the gates were opened, causing her to open her eyes. The hall that she stepped into was similarly nice in an understated way, with a cherry wood floor and three oil paintings on the wall in front of her. Two ceiling lights lit the corridor and the brass letter on the door at either end of the hall. It was the left one that Acacia was led to, door J.

Fumbling with exhaustion, she managed to get the door open after a few seconds. "I'm sorry, I can't seem to recall your name," she stated to the man who had escorted her.

Though he looked disappointed, he replied, "James Doherty, Miss."

Another pang went through her. Of course, she would come across a James so soon after losing Jimmy. "Thank you very much, Mr. Doherty. Have a good night," she dismissed him kindly.

With a slight smile, he nodded and wished her the same. When she began to close her door behind her, she saw that he had passed the elevator and was disappearing into a space a little past it. Perhaps a stairwell she hadn't seen?

Alone, truly alone for the first time since she left Eugene in 2012, Acacia had no idea what to do with herself. Lost, she took off her shoes and left them near the door before padding down the hall in her socks, flicking on lights as she went. The door she looked into on her left revealed a full bathroom with clawfoot tub. When she looked into the only door on the right, she couldn't help but choke on a sob.

The room was exactly like what Victoria would have loved her bedroom to be. The walls were a rich red and the furniture was mirrored: a vanity with bench, nightstand and big bed with headboard. Several pillows were scattered about and the textiles were all thick and comfortable looking pale gold. On the left side of the room, a cherry wood door with brass handle probably led to a closet.

If her baby cousin were here, she would have squealed with delight and launched herself at the bed. Instead, Acacia turned off the lights and slammed the door shut. She opened the only other door that she had seen so far.

It too was a bedroom, and that's all that she cared about. At the moment she was the only one there, so it didn't matter whether it was hers or not. Miserably, she closed the door behind her and crawled into the bed.

In the embrace of warm, heavy bed linens, Acacia finally allowed herself to completely and totally break down. Though she didn't allow herself to get loud enough to disturb her neighbors, she wailed into her pillow and curled around it until she could barely move and her throat was raw. If she were home where appearances weren't everything, she probably would have clawed at her arms until they bled or bit her lip through, trying for a distraction from the overwhelming emotional pain. As it was, she laid in that bed for hours until she just passed out from exhaustion.

* * *

-EOC-

Well, that wasn't such a bad time between updates. Only about a week, compared to months.

Anyway, please tell me what you think of this. Reviews are love!

-Thrae


	13. In Which the Trial Begins

Thank you all so much who have read this far! Please continue, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. Also, thank you to **Leader of the Penguins** for your lovely review! It made my day.

**Nena**: Thank you very much for continuing with this! I know we all know who it is, but since it's from his point of view and he doesn't know... I thought it would be best to keep to what he knows rather than confuse everyone. I agree, I'd dance if I got to kiss Murdoch also but considering my 13 year long crush on Phillips... It's not so much the quantity, though the more feedback the better, but the quality of the reviews. Thank you for telling me what you like about this and going back and commenting on your favorite chapters! Any suggestions you'd care to make?

A special thank you to my followers:** Leader of the Penguins, Asery Aseerrmio Ecvoll Asernil, maisey jay** and **trainette10**! Thank you **trainette10, The IrishShipperholic** and **Leader of the Penguins** for favoriting, that means a lot. I'd love it if any of you gave suggestions or commented!

Disclaimer: I own nothing under copyright. I also mean no disrespect to Carlos Hurd or his descendants. Please refer to the prologue for the full disclaimer.

* * *

**In Which the Trial Begins**

_"In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on."_

_-Robert Frost_

The ship had docked, and Harold Sparks found himself muddled in a mass of confusion. Shouldn't he recognize someone here, even a little? It seemed that no one knew him either, as no one looked at him for more than a quick second as they went about their business.

Wandering around, he saw every type of person possible: immigrants who didn't speak English, rich folks with hearts of ice, and all those in between. Most were well dressed, though some had makeshift clothing sewn up from blankets or garments that stood out like a sore thumb. It was one of the last who caught his attention for a moment as he came up a narrow side corridor.

The first thing he noticed was that she wore bright purple, a sweater that fitted her in such a way that made Sparks think most inappropriate thoughts. The trousers were no better, black and almost scandalously form fitting with some sort of holster on her left thigh that contained probably all she owned anymore. Her feet were shod in black slippers, and when he looked up at her head, an odd knitted cap was drawn over her hair. Only the front was able to escape at all, reddish blonde that tickled her pale jaw. And in her face, he saw a slightly crooked nose and full lips with a silver speck below them, setting the stage for a pair of reddish brown eyes that held a world of hurt behind them. She was quite lovely in her sadness. Perhaps he should say hello?

Shaking his head at the thought, Sparks turned left. '"Because she's pretty" is not a good excuse to go up and talk to her when she's probably just lost everything,' he reprimanded himself, 'She probably wants to be alone right now, dolt.' Busy with that, he didn't hear her calling a name that would have solved all the mysteries he was facing.

Instead, he turned a corner and walked right into a man. "Excuse me," Sparks mumbled, prepared to move to the side and continue on his way.

"Get away from me, filth," snapped the fairly young, dark haired man. He was wearing a tuxedo with a torn sleeve, probably a first class survivor.

Preferring to not open hostilities any further, Sparks simply slid to the side. He watched the man wade through the crowd, analyzing his posture and movements. Tight shoulders, clenched jaw, eyes narrowed- he was angry about something.

"Not a friendly one, is he?" asked a man casually from the other side of the corridor. He was young, about Sparks' own age (or rather, the age he guessed himself to be) with thick glasses and a dark brown handlebar mustache a few shades deeper than his hair. His eyes were curious as they roved him from head to toe and back.

"He doesn't seem to be," Sparks agreed thoughtfully, "Though it could just be that he had an argument with someone. He seems upset by something." Though he thought of himself as a realist, a little optimism every now and again didn't hurt. Or, so he believed until proven otherwise.

"You're good at reading people. He's been looking around for this lady and unable to find her for days," the bespectacled man commented. After a few seconds, he shook his head and turned to Sparks with a rueful smile. "Sorry about being rude, my name is Carlos Hurd. Reporter for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch and New York World," he introduced himself, holding out a hand.

Sparks took it and gave a firm shake. "Harold Sparks," he returned, "Though I can't remember what I do, if I do have a job." Now that he met a working man, he felt slightly embarrassed over his memory loss.

"How do you not remember?" asked Hurd, amazed. He scanned Sparks intently, as if searching for clues.

The young man mentally wished him luck with that quest. If he and the doctor had been unable to discover anything, he doubted anyone else would be able to just by looking at him. "According to the doctor, I probably hit my head when the Titanic was sinking," Sparks recalled, "I was out cold for three days, just woke up today." As always, when he tried to remember, all he came up with were those five things: the smell of a flower, a necklace with a thin silver chain, being cold, a song, and an old man saying, "Thank you, Sparks." When he tried again, he winced at the expected spurt of pain that came.

"So you remember your name and nothing else," Hurd clarified, his eyebrows raised far up his forehead.

"Not even my name," Sparks ground out, the pain slowly ebbing away, "It's a wild guess on what sounded familiar." When only a slow throb remained, he turned his gaze back onto Hurd to be polite.

The man was looking at him like some exotic creature he had never before encountered. "Then you haven't an idea if anyone is coming to collect you," he stated.

Glumly, Sparks nodded. 'That is, if I even know anyone here,' he thought with a frown.

"Well, I was going to cancel my ticket out to the Mediterranean anyway what with all this going on about the Titanic. Would you want to stay in my guest bedroom for a few days?" Hurd offered.

Sparks blinked, wondering if the man was alright. He was offering someone he hadn't known for five minutes, room in his own home. Ultimately, the amnesiac decided to not look a gift horse in the mouth. "That would be wonderful, yes," he accepted gratefully, "Thank you very much for your kindness. I'll find some work and get my own place as quickly as possible." The last thing he wanted was to be memory impaired and a burden on someone.

With a small smile, Hurd nodded. "The Carpathia passengers get off first, so let's go," he advised, beckoning for his new charge to follow.

In relatively short order, they were disembarking into a sea of people. Lights flashed all over the place and people shouted everywhere, setting Sparks' nerves on edge. A flash of noise came to his memory, of people screaming in terror as a loud, inhuman groan filled his ears.

Luckily Hurd didn't notice, as he was clearing the way for them both. Once out of the throng, he hailed a cab and looked to Sparks with a grimace. "Now that I've been through that mess, I know why people hate reporters so much," he stated baldly.

Unable to come up with anything to say, Sparks merely shrugged as he assisted his new acquaintance with his baggage.

A cab pulled up and the two men climbed in the back, Hurd giving an address of, "1865 Athens Avenue." With a nod from the driver, the vehicle drove away.

It was strange, looking out the window and seeing so many different things. The dark sky and pouring rain made the lights only seem to shine brighter from windows, the city awake even this late at night. People were everywhere on the sidewalk, and vehicles on the road ranged from bicycles to horse drawn carriages to automobiles. It was truly a mind boggling sight for someone who was sure he had seen none of it before.

The buildings turned from rich to humble, and brightly lit to mostly dark as they continued, until the car stopped in front of a modest townhouse. There Hurd urged him out and paid the taxi driver, who drove away. "Home, sweet home," the bespectacled man sighed, trudging up the steps.

It seemed that he wasn't very happy to be back. At least, not at the moment. He was probably mourning his vacation, and just as shocked by the Titanic's sinking as all those people at the pier seemed to be. Or, at least that explanation would make sense.

Sparks followed the reporter up the steps and then inside, out of the driving rain. It was a welcome reprieve; he was starting to hate the cold. At the same time it was all he could remember, so he wasn't sure if he would like the heat very much.

Being a good host, Hurd showed him around the townhouse. On the bottom floor were the sitting room, dining room, kitchen, office, a small half bathroom and a second larger sitting room in a somewhat cramped but not unpleasant arrangement. "The house was my parents' until they passed in a motor crash a few years ago," the reporter told him as he led the way up the stairs, "I was actually getting very lonely in here, all by myself."

Giving his new (and second) acquaintance a sympathetic look, Sparks thought a little. Perhaps no one had recognized him because those he knew had all died. It would make a certain amount of sense, though he hoped it wasn't so. The mere thought made him rather sad.

To the right side of the hall were three doors, the left of which Hurd opened. "This is the guest room," he informed, stepping aside, "The bathroom is the next door over. Are you hungry?"

As his host looked rather tired, Sparks shook his head. Truthfully, he could have gone for something but it wasn't very urgent. He could wait until morning.

"Well, night. See you in the morning," Hurd said, before pointing to the only door on the other side of the hall, "That's my room. If anything comes up, I'll be in there."

"Thank you again for taking me in like this," Sparks smiled grimly.

With an understanding pat to the other man's shoulder, Hurd moved across the hall to the door he had pointed out.

That being that, Sparks entered the room he was being loaned and examined it with interest. The walls were white and furniture matched the floor of light-shaded wood, but most everything else was blue. It was a fairly small room, shaped in an odd L-shape that probably hid the bed from view. All that could be seen from the door was a large, full bookcase; a desk and chair; and a window at the end. When he closed the door behind him and went further inside, Sparks saw that he was correct: the single bed (with a blue duvet) and nightstand were around the corner.

Suddenly feeling weary despite his long sleep, he shucked his clothing and folded it neatly. After placing the articles on the desk, he crawled between the covers and curled up. "Harold Sparks" was out like a light by the time his head hit the pillow.

* * *

When Acacia Wood woke up, she felt like her throat had been sandpapered. For a moment she wondered why, and then it all came rushing back. Titanic. The sinking. The Carpathia.

As much as she wanted to curl up and stay in bed all day, she forced her eyes open. It wouldn't do to make a liar out of herself since she had said she would find the officers and Harold before or after the trials. She supposed that she had to face the world sometime, and there was no better reason in her mind.

Grudgingly, Acacia sat up and looked around. It was most definitely her room, as far as the designation went. The decor was androgynous, the walls pale green and furniture carved of simple, clean lines of deep mahogany. There was no vanity table, but the dresser had a mirror over it and a few cosmetics were laid out on the top. The bed was a large four poster with deep green velvet curtains, which matched those filtering out most of the sunlight from the window. A cherry wood door with brass handle on the right wall probably led to either a bathroom or a closet.

Before she even thought about getting dressed, Acacia dragged herself out of bed and into the hall. This time she went about finding the kitchen, which was accessed through an open archway off the hall. Of course there wasn't a refrigerator visible, but the stove was a massive cast iron pot bellied beast, and the cabinets were painted a cheerful yellow. It was the bowl of fruit on the counter that caught her eye though; she hadn't realized how hungry she was until she looked at it.

With a bite into a sweet pinkish apple, she set about exploring the rest of her abode. On the other side of the kitchen was another open arch that led into a dining room. Against one wall was a dark wooden sideboard, which matched the elegant lines of the four-seat dining set. It didn't seem that Acacia had company very often while in New York. That was fine with her.

The dining room was open to a massive sitting room, where two blue loveseats and a couple of white chairs surrounded a round glass coffee table. Light colors, mostly pale blue and white, gave the already large room an open and airy feeling that Acacia liked very much. A set of french doors with picture windows on either side looked out onto a balcony, which she put off investigating for the moment. It was raining, and all the walls were lined with waist high bookcases stuffed with books of every kind. It was a bibliophile's dream living room.

Yet Acacia found herself unable to genuinely smile about it. What was the price she had to pay to be here? In a way she wished she could trade places with Victoria, but it was a very selfish thought. No one should have to feel this way, and condemning her dearest cousin to it in her place would be wrong on so many levels. Not when she could take it.

But could she? Would it be possible for anyone to take this kind of burden, in addition to those she already carried, and walk away the same? It was a question that Acacia wasn't sure she wanted answered.

'It's going to be anyhow,' she thought, looking at the clock hanging on the wall the living room and kitchen shared. It was nine in the morning- she had just enough time to bathe, get dressed and get to the Waldorf-Astoria for the inquiry.

Suddenly busy, she started the bath and then went into her room to find a dress. Gratefully she saw that the whole closet was filled, though all the gowns and suits were dark colored or black for mourning. Acacia would have wanted it that way even if a disaster hadn't just happened- she felt exposed in lighter colors.

As it looked cold out, she picked a black velvet suit. The silver buttons were in an asymmetrical arrangement, adding interest to an otherwise boring outfit. Combined with a pair of black leather ankle boots she found and short black satin gloves, Acacia was ready to take on the world. Once that was all laid on the bed with undergarments, she went back to the bathroom.

The tub was almost filled, so she turned off the water and undressed. Thankfully this wasn't a cold-water flat, though Acacia would have been surprised if it were. Eros definitely had better taste than that, proven when she slid into blissfully hot water.

Hastily she scrubbed her hair with products that smelled like honey, and washed the rest of her body with peach scented wash. The memories associated with the latter smell, she pushed away. Those were old wounds.

Instead, Acacia decided to smile and thank Eros when she found a razor. After over a week without shaving, she was starting to feel like a bear. How Hockley had managed to find this state sexually attractive, she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

By the time the bath water went cool, she was already out. After drying her hair with a fluffy purple towel, she pulled the plug and went to get ready for the day. Hopefully that wouldn't take too terribly long...

It took more time than Acacia cared to admit just to tame her hair. While it was usually rather cooperative, days of washing it only with rough hand soap hadn't done it any favors. The color seemed to be fading out, and her roots were well on their way to showing. With a scowl, she eventually decided to just put it up and prayed nobody looked too closely when she took her hat off.

The rest was easy. Thankfully the suit she had chosen was easy to navigate and only required for the buttons to be done up. That, Acacia was easily able to do on her own. With a glance in the direction of her closet, she prayed it would be that easy with the rest of them...

Once she put on a hat with a black veil on it, she looked in the mirror. What she saw made her smile somewhat. While the dress wasn't made of crape and the hat was a bit much, it was fine in her opinion for mourning. It wasn't like she would go with it for more than a month, even if she stayed in 1912. Hell, she'd probably quit within a week.

As it was, she was risking several ghostly ass kickings for going into formal mourning at all. The mental image made Acacia giggle as she imagined the spirits of Victoria, Jack, Jim and Will all taking swipes at her. She could honestly see that happening. Knowing them, they were doing it right then.

"Alright then, out the door we go," Acacia told herself, grabbing a purse she had found. It was small black velvet bag with a black beaded shoulder strap and silver clasp like a coin purse. Just big enough for the essentials, but just small enough to not get in the way.

With that, she left the flat and took the stairs down to the ground floor. Why not get her exercise, after all?

By she reached the reference desk, Acacia resolved to get back into shape. Days of sitting around on the Carpathia had spoiled her. "Hello, could you tell me the best directions to the Waldorf-Astoria?" she requested of the blonde man now behind the desk.

He looked her over for a long moment before answering. "You head out and to the right, then at the corner make a left. Two blocks and make a right, and it'll be on the left side. Do you want me to call you a cab?" he offered. His hands went to the phone before Acacia even answered.

Judging by the directions, it wasn't very far. "No, I'll walk. Thank you," she denied and promptly exited the building.

Though the sky was grey, it was only sprinkling now and the weather gave Acacia no troubles. It was crossing the street which racked her nerves, actually, as there were no electric signals like she was used to. Instead there was a plain crosswalk and an unspoken rule of, "Walk whenever it looks like a vehicle isn't about to hit you."

That, and everyone who was wearing black. It felt something like a goth steampunk convention with women in black crape and netted hats, and men in a black version of the usual clothes or with a black armband on the arm of their uniform coat. There was so much black that it was a little jarring to look at. It would most likely be only for a day, or perhaps a week, but the sight was still so very strange.

The journey to the Waldorf-Astoria was quick and almost painless, aside of when she tripped on a curb and nearly fell. And then she saw the reporters. There were at least a dozen of them, shouting for comments from those who were entering the hotel and taking photographs at every given moment. Only a line of policemen was giving patrons and witnesses the ability to enter without being mobbed.

The urge came to Acacia to hide and not come out until the vultures were gone. After that incident when she was caught on film laughing at a joke just hours after Sam had been murdered at school... Well, she had avoided news cameras ever since then.

"Acacia!" a familiar Welsh accent shouted from down the block.

That was the only reason she didn't turn and flee like the coward she really was. Acacia couldn't bear to disappoint one of her only friends in 1912. Instead, she stayed where she was and waited for the Titanic's officers to come to her.

Harry was in the lead, with Boxhall and Pitman walking side by side after him and Lightoller following them with a dour look. It seemed that he didn't approve of his cohorts' social attitude at the moment. That was disregarded by them, however, as Harry pulled Acacia in for a quick hug and when she was released she was greeted quite cheerily by Boxhall and Pitman. Lightoller nodded grimly from the back of the group.

Returning the gesture, Acacia commented, "I'm actually on time for once, huh?"

With a glance at the reporters, Harry grimaced. "Barely," he replied, offering his arm, "We'd best get in." Obviously, he was looking forward to that as little as Acacia was.

She took a deep breath and hooked her elbow through his. 'I can do this,' she commanded herself sternly, forcing her chin up and back straight, 'It's less scary than the Titanic. It's not like I'll die. I won't be a coward!' Acacia barely finished her mental pep talk before Harry gave her a gentle but insistent tug forward.

The vultures swooped down on them the second they were within five feet.

"Are you here for the inquiry!"

"Are you witnesses to the disaster!"

"Can we get a few words from you!"

A muscle in Harry's jaw was ticking. It was probably taking a great amount of restraint for him to not tell them to go bugger themselves.

As it was, he led Acacia through the doors without a word. Nervously she clutched his arm, her lips pressed in a thin line. She hated cameras. She always looked like an idiot when someone else was taking the picture.

Right as they were filing into the room where the hearing was to be held, it struck her. Pictures. While everyone alive right now would be dead in her time, the pictures would still be around. 'Oh god, the timeline. There's a reason time travel shouldn't be possible. I'm screwing up the past so badly, I might have screwed up the future!' she thought almost hysterically.

"Acacia? What's wrong?" asked Harry with more than a little concern.

His voice broke Acacia out of her moment of horrible comprehension. Only then did she realize that she had just stopped right where she was, or that Harry was wincing as he pried her fingers out of his forearm. The other officers had a similar look, though Lightoller looked impatiently at the open doors to the makeshift courtroom.

Unable to fault the Second Officer, Acacia smiled thinly at him before turning a more reassuring look at Harry. "Just something I remembered. I'll be fine," she explained. With a tug to the Welshman's arm, she accompanied him into the room right before the doors were closed.

The room was rather packed, everyone from reporters to statesmen to the wealthy present and talking loudly. The hum was rather dulled to Acacia's ears as she and the officers walked to seats near the front of the room. There, as seemingly everywhere else, they sat in order of rank with the sole woman on Harry's left. It thankfully left her at the end of the row, with access to the aisle as needed.

There was the banging of a gavel by a young man in a spotless suit, and the room gradually quieted. Once he could be heard well, the young man introduced himself as Senator Smith of Michigan and began the trial- err, inquiry- by reading the objectives off a piece of paper.

It was easy to sink into a stupor by the time he was on the second objective. While he was highly photogenic, Smith didn't impress with his dictation. Then again, Acacia would be the first to admit that she was singularly difficult to stir, since almost no one could match Mason or Tyler for their oral prowess or charisma. As her mind wandered, she wondered about them and her other friends back in 2012.

A second voice brought her out of her thoughts, that of an unfamiliar reporter. He also read off of papers, but they were both copies of telegrams from what he said. At the mention of "if investigation showed neglect of any officer, no punishment was too severe for them," Acacia acutely felt Harry stiffen up beside her.

Her own legs tensed up in want to walk up to the front of the room and do a bit of speaking herself, on the fact that it was a tragic accident and there was no way it could have been avoided. Not since the White Star Line had pissed off Poseidon, at any rate. The Titanic would have sank, and those many lives lost with it, in some way or another even if this particular iceberg had been avoided.

The trial was then called for a recess until the afternoon. Acacia barely stifled a yawn as she got to her feet and shuffled into the aisle. If she was already sleepy after less than an hour, how would she manage to stay awake through all eighteen days?

* * *

Eros' lips pursed as he watched Jack and Acacia go about their separate lives. This wasn't right either, not even considering that they themselves weren't right with the world.

"When I saw the red thread, this was not what I expected thank you very much," he sniffed. Not that he had expected anything easy considering the setting, but this was insanity. What kind of soap opera had the Fates weaved into their tapestry?!

"I told you so," Hades taunted, "I may not have them, but you're certainly not in charge." His smirk was half hidden by his beard, but it could be heard in every syllable.

Though not usually violent, Eros wanted to tear that look off Hades' face. "That would be the Fates," he said coolly. Agitated, his wings rustled and nearly started flapping.

"Easy, bird-boy. Don't want to lose any feathers there," Hera cautioned him with her usual, liberal streak of sarcasm. Despite being the goddess of marriage, pregnancy and women, she was just as bad as the Harpies. At least those could be seen for what they really were.

Surprise colored Eros' features as he looked at the goddess. "What are you doing here?" he asked, hoping that she would go away. If there was one thing he knew, it was that when she butted into something, either Zeus already had something to do with the situation or he would soon. And where Zeus frolicked, disaster followed.

"Seeing if my services might be necessary, what else?" Hera shrugged with one shoulder, casually. She looked down with a disinterested expression at where Jack paced off the edge of a bustling office, wearing a borrowed suit. Her posture spoke clearly of composure and detachment.

Troubled, Eros looked from Hades to his sister-in-law and back. Oh boy, Almond Joy. It looked like they were soon to be in another family feud.

* * *

Harold Sparks was nervous. Beyond nervous really, but for the sake of image he pushed down the raw fear as he tried to let out his tension. Back and forth, back and forth, from one wall to the other.

At breakfast, Carlos had mentioned that he may be able to get in as a reporter. They needed one for the New York World, so here they were with Carlos talking his boss up to giving Sparks an interview. Or, at least hopefully. Nothing was guaranteed, after all.

The noises of the office, from people talking (shouting, really) to papers being shuffled and people taking messages all over the place, did nothing to soothe Sparks' nerves. If he did get the job, he'd have to learn how to navigate this mess. And quickly. He had a feeling that he had always been a man used to working in a small, quiet environment since this environment could barely have made him less comfortable.

'It's work,' Sparks told himself, 'Don't be picky. It pays and it's not manual labor.' And it probably wouldn't kill him, but that was only a minor bonus.

To calm himself, he went to stand by a wall and began humming that song to himself. The one he remembered a woman singing, though he remembered probably nothing of the woman. "So lately, been wondering, who will be there to take my place? When I'm gone, you'll need love, to light the shadows off your face," he hadn't gotten past the beginning when the door to the office opened.

Feeling much more put together now, Sparks entered at Carlos' signal. Taking care to not seem in a rush, and to look like he knew what he was doing, he entered the small room. The door closing behind him blocked out much of the noise from the rest of the office, thankfully.

The boss appeared to be a short, thickset man with dark hair and a toothbrush mustache that looked tiny on his flabby face. While he didn't have a pleasant look to him, Sparks had already met less pleasant looking people. Like that man who had been so rude to him aboard the Carpathia, for one.

"Please, have a seat," the man invited him to a hardback chair with a sweep of his hand before introducing himself as Hymen Berkowitz.

With a small nod of thanks, Sparks took a seat. It was a real endeavor to keep himself still in it however,especially when Mr. Berkowitz looked like he was inspecting him. His dark eyes ranged from Sparks' dark hair to his lips to the ill fitting deep blue suit jacket he was wearing before he spoke. "I've been told that you were rescued from the Titanic?"

"I was told the same," Sparks confirmed.

"And you remember nothing from before waking up aboard the rescue ship?" asked Mr. Berkowitz with a casual air.

"Nothing concrete or important, sir. Not even my name," Sparks agreed, though he frowned slightly. No matter how he had tried, he couldn't remember anything beyond those few things. It was embarrassing, especially when faced with such questions.

Mr. Berkowitz nodded and with a subtle gesture, waved Carlos out of the room. Once the door was closed, he said to Sparks, "Not that I don't trust him, but he's a reporter."

Despite not knowing what Mr. Berkowitz meant by that, the amnesiac nodded. Being a reporter must have been something like being a spy, then.

"The name you've taken up is Harold Sparks?" Mr. Berkowitz questioned.

Sparks nodded. "Yes, sir."

"And your age, as far as you can guess?"

"I would say about... twenty-four or twenty-five."

"You sound English. Do you know anything of why you're here in the United States?"

"I suppose I may have been immigrating, or perhaps working aboard the Titanic. I'm not entirely sure, but that would make sense."

"Do you have any particular skills that you know of?"

"I can read and write, sir, and so far I've been very on-target when examining people. Carlos also mentioned something about charisma, but I don't suppose that's a skill."

Rather than questioning him further, Mr. Berkowitz nodded, almost to himself. Again he examined Sparks, eyes lingering mainly on his face. It was almost like he was inspecting an animal for purchase.

It made all of Sparks' nerves come back to the forefront. He subtly dried suddenly clammy palms on the knees of his borrowed pants.

"Do you have any opposition to working with snobs or pompous windbags?" asked Mr. Berkowitz unexpectedly.

Puzzled for a moment, Sparks blinked at the man across the desk from him. "No, sir," he replied.

Obviously his confusion showed through, as Mr. Berkowitz explained, "Our open post is for the society gossip column and most of the subjects are... a little less than agreeable. You certainly have a face and voice that would have most ladies spilling their darkest secrets." His mouth twitched with amusement.

"Which I take it, is what you're looking for," Sparks concluded.

"Precisely. Who is having an affair, who caused insult to who else, that sort of thing. Carlos vouches for you, and I see myself that you're fairly quick on the uptake. I'll take a chance on you," Mr. Berkowitz decided.

It felt like a punch in the stomach. Breathless for a minute with the force of his surprise and relief, Sparks barely managed a quiet, "Thank you very much sir."

With a smile, Mr. Berkowitz offered his hand. Upon shaking, he said with more warmth than previously, "Welcome to the New York World, Mr. Sparks. Be here at five tomorrow morning."

There was no way Sparks could have kept the grin off his face. "Thank you very much, sir. You won't regret it," he told his new employer with every bit of determination he could muster.

"Go see Edith at the front about an advance. You'll need some clothing that actually fits you, if you're going to get anywhere near those society ladies," Mr. Berkowitz instructed, before waving him away.

With a nod and a tip of his hat, Sparks left the office. Right outside he saw Carlos, who was now the one pacing anxiously. "I would think you'd be working by now," the dark haired amnesiac said airily.

His friend jumped, startled. "You're out fast. Either this is very good news, or very bad news," Carlos concluded.

"I would say very good," Sparks replied, grin turning to a smirk, "Unless you don't actually want me as a co-worker." For his cheek, and his good fortune, he was slapped on the back extra-hard.

"Splendid!" Carlos cheered, guiding the younger man to the front, "I take it he gave you an advance too?"

"Said to ask Edith about it, yes," Sparks confirmed. He nodded respectfully to a young woman they passed on their way to the front, but otherwise paid attention to everything and nothing. It was difficult to believe, he got the job.

Little did he know, that he also got himself an admirer.

* * *

It had just been a quick glance up from her stenography, just a quick break for her eyes. It ended up being a feast for her eyes.

While he couldn't be called awe-inspiringly gorgeous, the man was close to it. Neat, dark brown hair, a pale and somehow aristocratic face, and sharp brown eyes caught her attention. It was kept by the smirk on his full lips that gave him a somewhat dangerous look. Despite that it didn't fit very well, probably borrowed, the dark blue of the suit he wore looked wonderful against his pale but not sickly skin. In short, he was a heartbreaker without even trying.

The way he carried himself was remarkable, for the circumstances he seemed to be in. His shoulders were back and chin was up, a self-assured air about him. From the respectful acknowledgement he gave Mr. Berkowitz's daughter when passing, he seemed to be a gentleman as well.

Margaret went back to work with a small smile. Hopefully she would see that handsome stranger again soon.

* * *

And months later, another chapter! Sorry for the long wait, but I hope this nice long chapter made up for it. Not to mention a double helping of Jack!

Please review and tell me how you think I did!

-Thrae


	14. In Which the Media Happens

**Leader of the Penguins**: Thanks for your review! Haha, we'll see. Thanks for the suggestion by the way, I could totally see that happening. Now just to see if it does, since the characters have a habit of possessing my fingers...

Disclaimer: I own nothing under copyright and further mean no disrespect to Carlos Hurd or his family. Also, some quotes are taken from transcripts of the Titanic inquiry in New York while others are based on them but the facts altered. See the prologue for the full disclaimer.

* * *

**Chapter 13: In Which The Media Happens**

_"I believe in equality for everyone, except reporters and photographers." _  
_―Mahatma Gandhi_

Acacia was more grateful than ever for Eros and the wonders of thermal clothing, as she watched Harold be put through his paces.

Due to someone sitting on his legs all night on overturned collapsible B, it was more than a little difficult for him to get around. Thus, the exercises the nurse was having an orderly put him through. Really, it was a miracle that his legs hadn't needed to be taken off.

In the long run, it was mercy. In the short run, it was torture. Not even five minutes after the start of the exercises, Acacia felt her own legs begin to cramp up in sympathy for the pain visible on her friend's face. It reminded her of when Victoria had gone into labor almost: eyes clenched shut, teeth gritted and sweating with discomfort.

For her part, Acacia stood where she was sure she wouldn't be seen. Every now and again she crossed the doorway to peek inside, but quickly went back to her spot leaning on the wall afterward. If Harold knew he was being watched in one of his most vulnerable moments, it would embarrass him terribly. But she couldn't not see, curious about the medical practices of the time as well as her friend's welfare.

Technically Acacia should have been at the trial. She was involved in the sinking, and one of her acquaintances was on the stand that evening. But for fear of disgracing herself by falling asleep on the first day, she had left after the afternoon session.

Lightoller had been the one to tell her the name of the hospital, when she asked. Though he did it in a displeased grunt, there was a light of understanding in his eyes. He of all people knew what it was like to go through such an event, and that it was only natural to be close to a fellow survivor afterward. It was part of why the officers would come once the trial was over at ten that evening, if visiting hours were still going.

'Thank the gods they won't be here in time for another exercise session,' Acacia thought, wincing when Harold let out a choked sound of pain. As she had found out over lunch, Boxhall had no tact. At all. He'd probably be the one to barge in thinking someone was murdering Harold, only to find this.

At long last, the nurse and orderly bade Harold good day (until that night) and stepped out into the corridor. They didn't even look at Acacia, as they went the other way from where she was standing. Admittedly, she appreciated being under the radar.

For a couple of extra moments, Acacia stood out in the corridor. It would give Harold a chance to put himself back into order. In that time, she looked down at the odd bouquet in her hands.

Figuring that she may as well, Acacia had gotten something to cheer up Harold's room for a few days of the who knows how long he would be in the hospital. At first, she had thought of tulips or lilies. Then she remembered that the language of flowers was all the rage right now, and those meant 'a declaration of love' or 'majesty'. Whatever they were in, it wasn't love, and whatever he was at the moment, it wasn't majestic. In what Acacia had ended up with there was heather for protection, purple coneflower for strength and health, chamomile for energy in adversity, and sage for good health and long life. It was full of good meanings, but still looked a little weird to her eyes.

When she felt that enough time had passed as to not be suspicious, Acacia knocked on the open door to let Harold know she was there. "Delivery for Mr. Harold Bride?" she called with a tricky little smile.

It was returned by a large but tired grin. "Come in," Harold replied, waving her in. He looked even smaller than he usually did, in a bed designed for someone much larger than he. Not that he was a midget, just downright short and thin for a man.

Taking a seat on the chair beside the bed, Acacia set the vase of flowers on the bedside table beside a book. "How are you?" she asked softly, knowing that he would downplay the downsides to the hospital. It was just one of his things.

"Much better now that I have someone to talk to," Harold admitted, "It's rather boring already, even with reading material. And the food is nothing to delight in."

Acacia wrinkled her nose at the mention of hospital food. "Usually healthy, but some of the worst tasting stuff on earth," she agreed. As was their ritual by now, she leaned down and pressed her lips gently to his forehead. It was cool and sticky from sweat that was recently wiped away, but she didn't mind very much.

Sitting in the chair at his bedside, they talked. About the hospital and the trial, hopes for going home and the adventures already had with their friends. When he heard about the time Victoria went skinny dipping at Ocean Shores, Harold nearly choked on his own saliva, while Acacia laughed until she did choke at a few of the pranks Lightoller had apparently played. Who would have known that the dour Second Officer had a personality, never mind a sense of humor?

Soon, their conversation grew quiet and contemplative. "If you could go back in time and change one thing, what would it be?" Acacia asked out of nowhere.

Obviously taken aback, Harold settled back to think. "I think... I would have gone back to the stern with you and Jack instead of sticking with collapsible B," he finally decided.

"No taking back things said to your mother or better grades in school?" Acacia asked, somewhat surprised. Those were the most common ones that she had come across.

"No, I don't have any big regrets like that," Harold denied after a pensive moment, "And even if I did, I probably wouldn't change them. Those sort of things change our life, and who knows where I'd be then? I'd rather do something somewhat recent. Plus, then perhaps Jack wouldn't have slipped and we all would have lived. And," he declared with a glare at his bandaged legs, "I would have no trouble whatsoever walking."

Glancing at them herself, Acacia admitted that in itself, full mobility would be a big plus factor in that decision. "No regrets about being on the Titanic at all?" she asked interestedly.

"None," Harold said serenely, before asking, "What about you? Do you regret being on the Titanic yet?"

It was a difficult question to answer. There were so many emotional and logical components and possibilities that Acacia probably could have thought on that question all night, changing her answer every five minutes. "I don't think I do," she eventually answered, piecing her thoughts together as she spoke, "I won't deny that the sinking and the... stuff... with Cal was horrible and I'll probably have nightmares about it, and I miss Victoria more than I can say, but... if I didn't go on the Titanic, I wouldn't have met you. Or Jack, or Harry, or Will. I would never have fallen in love, and Victoria probably wouldn't have either. That being said... I need to get home as soon as the trial is over. I have a niece who needs me." She smiled grimly at the thought, hoping that Julie was still firmly in 2012.

Harold followed her thought process without difficulty the whole way up until the word 'niece'. Then his eyes went slightly wide as he spluttered, "You mean- wait, I thought Victoria was your cousin?"

Resisting the urge to laugh at his confusion, Acacia explained, "Technically, yes. But she was close to me like a sister. So Julie, her daughter, calls me Auntie and I call her my niece. And now that her mum is gone, I have custody of her." If she had somehow wound up in 1912 also, which Acacia prayed she hadn't.

"And her father?" asked Harold expectantly. It was easy to see why; usually when there was a divorce these days, the husband ended up with the children. And the money. And the property. And basically everything except sometimes the wife's clothes.

"Hes dead to us," Acacia said coldly.

Thankfully, Harold did as she was aiming for and dropped the topic. "You asked mine, now time for yours. What's the one thing you would change if you could go back in time?" he asked, getting back onto their previous subject.

It was still a painful one. But since she had asked, Harold had a right to also. "I would have stayed in Washington with my mother instead of returning to Oregon," Acacia answered softly, images of her time in Tacoma flashing through her mind, "She was... ill, I guess you could say. Barely knew her own name sometimes. And some days she loved me and I was her little girl, and other days she hated me and I was an evil, conniving bitch as far as she was concerned. As it was, she died three months after I left and I've always regretted leaving her so near the end."

It was just like in the back of the taxi, with the memories flying through Acacia's head at lightning speed. The horrible shock of being uprooted when she had finally felt safe enough to put down roots. Living in a neighborhood where rape and murder were everyday things. Being physically unable to sleep more than four hours a night, or eat more than a few bites at a time. Going through the gestures of life: laughing, smiling, chattering away, and not feeling any of it. The instinct to jump off the highway overpass to end it all, and the feeling like someone else was with her being the only thing that kept her from it. Returning home, to Eugene and Mum and Shea, and realizing that she was someone else now. And the phone call... the phone call that made Acacia finally feel the overwhelming abyss of grief and despair and relief she had been on the edge of for nearly a year.

A hand shaking her arm jerked her out of her melancholy thoughts. When she looked up, half expecting it to be Victoria, she realized that she had managed to break down right in front of Harold. Heat flooded her cheeks, and she lowered her head to hopefully hide some of it.

'How embarrassing...' Acacia thought morosely, irritated with herself, 'Pitiful, Acacia. I can't even keep it together for a few hours when a friend needs me to.'

Busy berating herself, she was taken by surprise again by Harold. This time he had reached over and touched under her chin, bringing her face up. "Look at me, Acacia," he demanded quietly.

Automatically, she did. What she saw, blew her away. There was no pity visible; he knew she wouldn't stand for that. Instead, there was care and confusion mixed with a huge dose of compassion, the likes of which Acacia had never seen directed at her before. "Whatever the reason was behind you leaving, you thought that it would be the best thing for you. Don't be angry at yourself for it," he told her in no uncertain terms, "If you need to talk to someone, my door is open whenever visiting hours are going and I'm sure that Harry would be there if you wanted him. Got it?"

She would probably never take him up on that. It was a part of her past she wasn't proud of and wanted to just forget and never speak of again. Acacia nodded anyways.

"I don't think you do, but I'll accept that. For now," Harold declared.

They spent another hour talking about anything and everything, except for what just happened.

* * *

The next day, April 20, Acacia saw Cal again. He stood bold as brass in the temporary courtroom near the seats reserved for the public, his usual charming facade in place. And even worse, the men he was standing with were either the same as he was or complete idiots to fall for his act. It was sickening.

"Calm down," Harold whispered into her ear, "He's not worth your attention." He squeezed her hand to get her attention.

Closing her eyes, Acacia took a few deep breaths. Once most of the negative feeling was gone, she opened her eyes again. "Sorry," she apologized with a feeble smile at Harold.

He shook his head. "Don't worry about it," he replied in a low voice.

Apparently Harold had been released from the hospital earlier that morning on the condition that he not stay on his feet any longer than necessary but exercise his legs twice a day. He said that it was planned by the doctors. Acacia was sure that he terrorized the medical staff into it. It didn't matter either way, really, but the thought made her smile a little.

"What're you two over here whispering about?" teased Harry, plopping down on Acacia's other side. His brown eyes sparkled as he looked from her to Harold and back again. Obviously he was thinking something far different from what was really happening.

"How absolutely smashing Pitman looks with his mustache waxed," Acacia replied sarcastically, nodding her head over to the other officers. She wasn't a fan of facial hair actually, though he was an exception. Not many men could manage to grow a mustache that luxurious, after all. Even if it did make him resemble Ismay a bit.

After they took a look, Harry and Harold were smirking and holding back sniggers. "I wouldn't use the word smashing, but it's certainly better than before," Harry acknowledged.

Acacia's nose wrinkled at the mention. While there were worse sights (Ismay's drawn, prematurely aged face, Cal's face in general) Pitman's mustache had been a sorry one on the Carpathia. She had been thinking about shaving it off while he slept, but obviously that plan never came to fruition.

The conversation didn't have a chance to get any more inane from there, as Senator Smith banged the gavel then. Quickly, everyone filed into their seats. Poor Boxhall (one of the clumsiest men ever while on land) even fell into Acacia's lap in his hurry.

While that would be only a little inconvenient under most circumstances, this was not most circumstances. The chair seemed to agree. It splintered and crashed down in a symphony of noise and startled squeaks.

Acacia's body protested as the chair seat hit the floor, the back going a few seconds after. It left her groaning as her head barely missed hitting the tile, and Boxhall's landed on her shoulder. Thankfully none of his more knobbly pieces struck her, though the unexpected weight of his body didn't allow her to get her breath back.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry," Boxhall apologized hurriedly, scrambling to his hands and knees. He got to his feet quickly.

He unfortunately wasn't on his feet fast enough to avoid a scandal. The boom of a flashbulb startled Acacia into jumping to her feet. When she looked, it was a reporter from the row behind them who then took another photo of their startled faces.

"What the blazes is going on here?" demanded Smith over the whispers.

"Complete accident," Acacia proclaimed, dusting herself off, "He tripped and my chair collapsed under us. No big deal!" She was certain that her cheeks were burning red.

Boxhall kept apologizing as he looked from Acacia to Harold and back again. The former just waved him off with a small smile. The latter looked somewhere between amused and horrified.

Meanwhile, Harry and Lightoller were having what appeared to be a strongly worded conversation with the man who had snapped the pictures. They were trying to anyhow, as the photographer was shaking his head and moving away from them. "Oi, come back here!" Harry shouted as the man escaped up the aisle and out the doors.

The only answer was the look he received from a startled maid who had just entered, presumably to clean up the wrecked chair.

As the debris was being swept away and the chair replaced, Acacia groaned into her hands. If there was one thing she knew about the media, it was how fast they spread gossip. Especially if it was sensational and incorrect. 'This is the last thing I need,' she thought morosely.

When she decided to look up, for some reason it was up at Cal. The smirk on his face and the glint in his dark, cruel eyes made Acacia feel slightly sick again. He was enjoying this.

It took monumental effort for her to tear her eyes away. It took even more to keep herself from flipping the bird at him. Knowing him, he'd take that as an offer.

Instead, Acacia stuck her nose in the air and turned around. When she sat down, thankfully this chair didn't collapse.

Thus this session of the inquiry began with a bang, literally. Of course, it soon descended to much the same thing as it had been yesterday- Smith's repetitive questions which showed exactly how little he knew of the sea, and the sometimes confusing and contradictory answers given. Some of the information given by Cottam- that he had been at the wireless set right up until he passed out three days after he last rested- had already been heard.

Those around the room were beginning to stifle yawns, and Acacia's eyes were drooping a little, when Cottam was allowed to step down. "I will ask Mr. Bride to take the stand," Senator Smith called.

Instantly, the room filled with excitement. It only grew as Harold took his crutches and hobbled to the stand, uncowed in the face of the interest he was receiving. In fact, he seemed a bit flattered if his expression was anything to go by.

He was sworn in and the questioning began. At first it was the usual, boring details: full name, place of residence, occupation details. When Jack was mentioned, he hesitated a moment, expression falling slightly when he was reminded of his friend.

Acacia squeezed her eyes shut a moment before opening them again. She hadn't so much as heard him mentioned in half a week, and now that he was, a short searing pain tore through her chest. Ruthlessly, she forced herself to pay attention to her friend's testimony rather than the fate of her beloved.

Then again, it was rather difficult with what seemed like utter stupidity spewing from Senator Smith's mouth at times. "Were there any officers of the White Star Line aboard Titanic?" he asked interestedly at one point.

When she looked to her right, Acacia barely held in her laughter. The looks on the officers' faces were priceless. Harry especially seemed to have a hard time accepting that the question was even asked.

"The Titanic was commanded by White Star Line officers," Harold answered evenly. Too evenly for it to have been anything less than a jab at Senator Smith for his having to ask.

The other man didn't seem to notice and testimony continued. A good deal of it was strangely centered around Ismay, and Harold seemed rather cheerful as he told the court about the messages he could remember being sent for the man. Especially when he was detailing about the brandy shipment.

Some disapproving mutters sounded on that topic, and Acacia had to hold back a smirk. She remembered very well that day; she and Jack had their first kiss. It hadn't been even ten minutes after that message was received, funny enough.

The engineer of the American Marconi Company answered a few questions about the callsign M.L.W., which he confirmed belonged to the Californian, before the focus went back to Harold. The focus soon moved to his activities, and by extension, Jack's, on the fourteenth.

"Who was on duty at the wireless station from 6 o'clock Sunday evening until the collision or impact?" Senator Smith questioned. This was what everyone had been waiting for, and a sudden hush fell over the room. This was the first testimony as to that night, from someone aboard the ill-fated liner.

"I was, from about half past six to the time of the collision," Harold replied steadily.

"Where were you at the time of the collision?" asked Senator Smith.

"I was at the apparatus catching up on the backlog of messages from when it had broken down that morning," Harold said.

"Where was the senior man?" asked Senator Smith, obviously referring to Jack.

"He was out for the night, sir," Harold answered vaguely, obviously trying to dodge the question without lying.

"Out? Out where?" asked Senator Smith.

"He and a few of the officers who were off duty were going to eat dinner and attend a party in third class," Harold said unhappily. He shot an apologetic look to Acacia, who gave him a tight smile back. It's not like he could have helped it.

There were several murmurs of surprise and quite a few of condescence around the room. Lightoller shot Harry a stern look, which was answered with a stubborn frown. Was it really that obvious that the young Welshman would have been one of those attending the party?

"Can you possibly tell me who those officers were?" Senator Smith asked, veering slightly off topic.

Again, Harold looked apologetically at Acacia, and Harry, before he answered, "James Moody, Harold Lowe and William Murdoch."

For the second time, Harry was given a look. Again, he refused to be ashamed.

"And they went down to third class?" reiterated Senator Smith.

"Yes sir," Harold confirmed.

"When did your senior operator return?" asked Senator Smith.

"Right after the collision," Harold said.

"Was he in a fit state to take over his duties?"

"Perfectly," Harold replied immediately, frowning a the perceived slight to Jack.

"Did he retire?" asked Senator Smith.

"No, he had just changed into his uniform when the captain came in," Harold denied.

"The captain came in?"

"Yes."

"Personally?"

"Yes."

"To the operating room?"

"Yes, sir," Harold's tone was a bit steely as he answered basically the same thing for the third time in a row.

It was ignored as Senator Smith asked, "What did the captain say?"

"He wrote down our orders and handed it to Jack. Err, Mr. Phillips."

"What did it say?"

"When I looked, it was a message that we were in major distress and needed help as fast as possible."

"Who sent this call?"

"I did."

"Was the message sent immediately?"

"Immediately."

"Please state it."

"C.Q.D. half a dozen times, M.G.Y. half a dozen times."

The questioning turned for a moment to the exact origins and functions of the codes C.Q.D. and S.O.S., and ship callsigns. It was just enough time for Acacia to get her breathing back to normal.

Then the testimony went back to that night. Even though she hadn't been in the room, she was certain she knew what happened next.

"Where was your senior man when this was happening?" Senator Smith asked, interrupting the flow of the testimony.

Again, Harold looked apologetically to Acacia as he answered. "As soon as we were told that the ship was sinking, I told him to tell Miss Acacia Wood. And he did," he said.

A flurry of whispers broke out as everyone craned their necks to look at Acacia for the second time that morning. Even the officers gave her surprised looks, though Harry's was more searching than the others. He seemed to be trying to put together the puzzle he had been presented with, and getting closer to its completion.

"When he came back-" began Senator Smith.

"He didn't," interrupted Harold, probably figuring that he may as well get it all out of the way at once, "He sent Miss Wood up to the Marconi room to assist me while he and Miss Victoria King opened the gates to third class." He was barely able to make his whole statement heard over the uproar that had taken the courtroom.

Acacia barely stomped down the urge to sink to the floor under the weight of her cowardice. Or even worse, to leave the room. Even as more flashbulbs went off and the whispers were no longer whispers, she felt like she was an exotic creature at a zoo. Everyone except for Harry and Harold were staring like she was.

"So that's where you disappeared off to!" the Welshman exclaimed, understanding dawning in his face, "I thought you were looking for Victoria!" He smacked his forehead with one hand and drew it down to rub his eyes as he groaned.

"No, I knew where she was," Acacia smiled sadly. Her cousin had died somewhere that she herself wouldn't go even before the ship was in danger.

The room was quieted and Senator Smith questioned, "Why did you suggest that Miss Wood be informed?"

Harold kept going on his roll of complete honesty. It was a little humorous how he wasn't even trying to dodge the questions anymore. "Because they cared for each other a great deal and I am friends with her as well," he replied.

More murmurs rose, but mainly from the few ladies present. There was an element of derision in their voices and faces that Acacia couldn't miss if she were blind or deaf. Then again she may as well have been, considering how little she cared.

"In the time that Mr. Phillips was away, what communications did you receive?" Senator Smith asked, getting back on track.

"The Frankfurt replied to my messages telling me to stand by," Harold replied tersely, obviously still unhappy about that.

Acacia herself was immensely displeased. Not to mention in disbelief, as a C.Q.D. or S.O.S. in itself should have been taken with the utmost urgency. There was no time for a 'stand by'.

"And your reply?" asked Senator Smith expectantly.

"I replied with another C.Q.D. in case he hadn't gotten it the first six times," Harold replied tersely.

"And then?"

"Some ten minutes later, he asked what was the matter."

"He asked what was the matter?"

"Yes sir."

"And your reply?"

"I told him that he was a bit of a fool and to keep out of it, sir," Harold replied rather sheepishly. His eyes darted to Acacia, and he turned a little pink.

Meanwhile, she swore she cracked a rib trying not to laugh. Sweet, patient little Harold Bride losing his temper like that? Unheard of.

"After you told him he was a fool, did you give him your position?" asked Senator Smith.

"No, sir. I told him to keep out of it."

"Keep out of what?"

"Not to interfere with my instrument."

The questioning about the Frankfurt continued for some time. To Acacia, it was the most entertaining thing to happen in days. Her personal favorite part was this little gem after some questions had been fielded to Cottam and Mr. Marconi:

"I assumed that if he did not get my first C.Q.D., which was sent slowly and carefully, he would not get anything else," Harold replied to a question.

"Do you think he understood your message that he was a fool?" asked Senator Smith dryly.

"No, I think it was sent too fast for him," Harold answered without missing a beat.

It had taken almost super-human will for Acacia to not burst out laughing. As it was, she choked on a few chuckles that she disguised as coughing. So did Harry and Pitman, among others in the room. Even Lightoller and Cal appeared rather amused.

The line of questioning eventually steered back to the events aboard Titanic, specifically about Acacia and Jack. "When did Miss Wood arrive in your room?" asked Senator Smith.

"I would say about fifteen after twelve," Harold replied slowly, looking upward with a slight frown almost as if willing the heavens to give him an answer.

"Was she any help to you in sending or receiving messages?" asked Senator Smith.

"Very much so," Harold replied immediately, a note of pride in his voice, "Someone needed to keep the captain informed and, no offense to either party, but he would not have listened to Miss Wood. So once I ascertained that she knew the codes and how to operate the apparatus, I ran messages between her and the captain." There was a hint at a smile on the corner of his lips, just the slightest upturn.

"Miss Wood already knew how to operate the wireless apparatus?" repeated Senator Smith, incredulity dripping from every syllable.

"Yes, sir. She was very good with it," Harold added.

Affection for her friend swept over Acacia. She couldn't keep from beaming at him stupidly, even as she was observed by nearly the whole room.

"What were those messages?" asked Senator Smith after a moment of thought.

"The first was that the Carpathia had been contacted and was making full steam toward us, with their position and expected arrival time," Harold replied primly.

"Do you remember the position or time stated?"

"The time was about four in the morning."

"Was it correct?"

"From what I have learned, it was spot on," Harold said rather coolly, seeing the question for what it was. It was an inquiry more as to Acacia's abilities than the communication itself.

Indignation and upset burned in the pit of her stomach. 'Just because I have ovaries doesn't mean I'm useless,' she thought, holding back a sneer. If she ended up frowning instead, then so be it.

"The next communication?" asked Senator Smith, changing back to his original line of questioning.

"I came back in with the captain and Miss Wood reported to him that the Olympic had responded but was too far away to be of any help," Harold said.

"And the captain said?"

"He asked where Mr. Phillips was."

"She said what?"

"That she didn't know."

"You said earlier that Mr. Phillips was below unlocking the gates to third class. How did he know that they were locked?" asked Senator Smith, switching directions.

"I'm not sure exactly," Harold admitted.

Senator Smith shared a look with one of the other men who seemed to be on a board. One wrote something down. Acacia could only assume that it was a reminder for her to be subpoenaed for tomorrow.

"What did the captain say?" asked Senator Smith.

"He just said something to himself and left," Harold said.

"And then?"

"Miss Wood excused herself to look for Mr. Phillips or her cousin, and I took over again," Harold replied, his eyes going to her again.

Acacia smiled wanly at him. If she could deal with remembering her own experiences, she could damn well handle someone else speaking about them. She hoped.

"Were there any more communications with the Frankfurt, Olympic or Carpathia?" questioned Senator Smith.

"I passed on to the Carpathia that the well deck was underwater," Harold said grimly. Obviously he was being transported mentally back to that horrifying night as well.

There were a couple of questions as to what the well deck was, and the placement of the Marconi room before they went back to the events of the night. It gave Acacia just enough time to reign in her emotions. She had already made enough of a spectacle of herself that day without bursting into tears on top of it all.

"Did Miss Wood come back?" asked Senator Smith, once he had found out that the Marconi room was on the boat deck directly behind the first smoke stack.

"Yes, sir," replied Harold.

"Did she say anything then?"

"That there was no sign of Mr. Philips or Miss King and that the water was up to A deck. She also suggested that we get our lifebelts on."

"Did you?"

"I put mine on. She carried hers under her arm."

"How did you expect to leave the ship?"

"I had to wait until the captain told me. Miss Wood waited with me."

"You had to wait until the captain told you that you could leave the ship?"

"Yes, sir. He came around a short while later and told us that we'd best look after ourselves."

"How long was that until the ship disappeared?" asked Senator Smith interestedly.

"I'd say about a quarter of an hour," Harold told him after a moment of thought.

Acacia wondered. Had it really been that short a time? It seemed like so much longer- and yet much shorter.

"Did he indicate what he was going to do?" Senator Smith asked, obviously referring to the captain.

"No, sir."

"You then left the room?"

"I sent out a last message- C.Q.D. M.G.Y.- before we left."

Gratefully, Acacia smiled at Harold for his discretion. The last thing she needed was for her panic attack to be brought up in front of a whole room of strangers plus the officers and Cal.

The questioning then steered away to follow what Harold experienced. Acacia allowed herself to relax somewhat, now that none of the questions could have involved her. After all, she hadn't seen her friend again until they were in the Carpathia's second class dining room.

So it was that she got the surprise of her life when, after the lunch break, Senator Smith called, "I would like to call Miss Acacia Wood to the stand."

* * *

It was actually rather boring most of the time, being a reporter. Sparks managed to discover that on his first day on the job. Perhaps that was just the beginning though. After all, he was still setting up his desk.

Everyone he had met so far was very nice, though a girl who had introduced herself as Catalina Berkowitz was a little too friendly for his comfort. It had seemed almost like something was caught in her eye as she was speaking to him, she fluttered her eyelashes so much. On the other hand there were Margaret and Godfrey, who had made him feel at ease instantly.

Of course, Carlos was always around handing out pointers and telling him who to watch out for- notably Ms. Berkowitz. "Keep her at a distance, trust me. The last man she looked at like that was fired and had to leave town to find work. She completely ruined him," he had warned as soon as he saw her heading toward them. It was a warning Sparks had taken seriously.

Everything made it seem like a perfectly ordinary, boring office job. Until one of the senior reporters came in shouting about a big scoop. Then everyone in the vicinity went mad.

To keep from getting underfoot, Sparks stayed back and listened as best he could. How anything newsworthy could have happened before ten in the morning, he hadn't the foggiest. Truthfully, it probably wasn't very interesting.

Unless a man was seen sneaking out of Caledon Hockley's bedroom in his skivvies. That, he would love to see. For a reason he couldn't remember, he hated the man. It was probably the cold sharpness in the man's eyes that was even present in photographs.

It seemed that (unfortunately) it had nothing to do with Hockley this time, however. The few things he had caught implicated something very different. And probably outrageous.

"-right on top of her-"

"-fiance was right next to them!"

"-Titanic inquiry-"

The last snippet caught Sparks' attention and he waded through the bustle to the man who had spoken. "Did you say something about the Titanic inquiry?" he demanded.

Surprised, the man's neck swiveled further than it probably should have in looking at Sparks. "Oh, that's right, you were on the Titanic," he groaned, rubbing the back of his neck with a grimace. He turned his body around to face him as he said, "Yep, turns out that one of the officers was having an affair with the surviving telegraphist's fiancee! Finally came out about it right before the inquiry started- and broke the chair while they were at it, right next to the poor man!"

Sparks couldn't help wincing in sympathy. That had to hurt.

"And you'll never guess who the man's fiancee is," the other reporter gushed.

"Who?" asked Sparks with some amusement mixed with his curiosity. Whoever it was, it couldn't be this big of a deal... right?

"A first class passenger," the man stage whispered, "That romance writer, Acacia Wood."

Shock passed through Sparks' mind right before a spurt of pain. He winced, a hand automatically going up to his head, even as a woman's voice echoed in his mind, "King. Victoria King. And this is my cousin, Acacia Wood."

Sparks waved off the concerned questions headed his way. Instead, he ground out, "Does she have a cousin named Victoria King?"

Margaret asked from his left, "You think you might know her?" She touched his arm lightly, lending her support.

"I... don't know," Sparks admitted, "I just heard a woman saying those names, introducing a Victoria King and her cousin, Acacia Wood. Maybe it was a memory. I don't know." The pain was receding as he shambled back to his cubicle, farther away from the irritating noise.

Still close by, Margaret patted his arm again. "We can always find out," she assured him.

With a pained smile, Sparks collapsed into his chair and put his pounding head into his hands. If this pain was the price of remembering even something small, he wasn't sure if he wanted to know the big things.

* * *

-EOC-

GWAHAHAHAHAHA!

Okay, now that I've got that out of my system... This was a difficult chapter to write. It took me ages to get started, to decide what was happening when... and I still don't know. But at least the writing is coming easier to me!

Please leave a review and let me know how I'm doing!

-Thrae


	15. In Which Acacia Testifies

**Leader of the Penguins:** Glad to know that you approve of the humor! :D Not to mention the whole chair thing getting blown out of proportion. I didn't expect that at all, actually. Thanks for reading and reviewing!

**Nena:** Thanks for the reviews! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapters, and I know what you mean about the waiting killing you. It's killing me too. Unfortunately, we both get to wait a bit longer. It's fine that you didn't comment earlier, I understand about being busy. I am too, actually, with the GED and moving to a different state this month.

To the rest of you, thanks for reading!

Disclaimer: I own nothing under copyright. See the prologue for the full disclaimer.

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen: In Which Acacia Testifies**

_"If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything."_

_-Mark Twain_

"I would like to call Miss Acacia Wood to the stand."

It wasn't that she hadn't expected it. It was that she hadn't expected it that day. Some time to prepare an explanation for her and her cousin's oddities would have been nice.

The whispers seemed to follow Acacia the whole way to the front of the room. With a derisive look at the bible she was sworn in on, not meaning to offend but finding it impossible to believe in, she settled into the same seat that Harold had before lunch.

A quick look at him and the officers reassured her. Not to mention her gratitude toward herself for choosing a proper crape mourning outfit today. Sure, it was a bit frilly and the hat was still a bit much, but it was a far sight more acceptable in the public eye than velvet or satin.

"For the record, would you state your name please?" requested Senator Smith politely.

"Acacia Lilith Wood," she answered, ignoring the disapproving murmurs about her middle name.

Senator Smith did also. "Your date of birth?" he asked.

"June sixteenth, n- eighty-eight," Acacia stuttered, barely keeping herself from saying 1988. She prayed that no one had noticed, or that it was written off as nervousness about being on the stand.

Senator Smith didn't even ask. "Your address?" he questioned.

As she didn't know whether her real home had been built yet, she took advantage of the precedent at the moment. "Eugene, Oregon, here in America," she replied, not naming the street.

"And your occupation?" asked Senator Smith, the last of the preliminary questions.

"Novelist," Acacia answered promptly. Nerves roiled in her belly, knowing that from there the question would only get harder and more emotional. She again looked at Harold and Harry for support.

"Were you aboard the Titanic when it sailed from Southampton?" asked Senator Smith.

"Yes," Acacia answered plainly. If the made up details for 1912 were at least approximately the same as the real ones, it was true.

"When did you board the vessel?" asked Senator Smith.

"I'd say a little under an hour before she set off," Acacia said slowly, trying to remember. She had been so nervous about being on a ship that she hadn't really noticed.

"What time did she sail?" asked Senator Smith.

Annoyed, Acacia gave him a look. Couldn't he have just looked this up? "Probably a little after noon," she answered.

"What day of the week?"

"Wednesday, April tenth."

"Had you ever seen the ship before?"

Not counting pictures... "No."

"Were you accompanied by anyone?"

Victoria's smiling face flashed across Acacia's vision. She had to swallow before she answered quietly, "Yes."

The Senator leaned in with a look of concentration. "I'm sorry, could you speak up?" he requested.

"Yes," Acacia answered more loudly, though her voice cracked, "My cousin Victoria King was traveling with me."

"Where was she from?" asked Senator Smith mundanely.

"Eugene, Oregon," Acacia answered flatly. A low, sinking, aching feeling was starting in her chest with the reminder that her cousin- as dear as a sister- was no longer here with her.

"You were both American?" asked Senator Smith.

"Yes," Acacia replied.

"Did your cousin survive?" questioned Senator Smith.

This time, Acacia physically flinched. "No," she answered shortly.

There was a smattering of sympathetic murmurs from the peanut gallery. Victoria's was the first casualty that anyone had testified specifically of, yet. Plus, she was a woman. That always garnered pity.

"Where were you located aboard the vessel? Where were your quarters and your cousin's?"

"We shared the starboard side parlor suite on C deck. Rooms C32, 34 and 36," Acacia recalled, the smells of fresh paint and new linen wafting through her nose with the memory.

"Do you know any of the passengers that were on C deck?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Did you know any other passengers on the Titanic on this voyage from Southampton or from Queenstown?"

"Everyone I knew on the Titanic, besides my cousin, I met aboard her," Acacia said, trying to phrase everything clearly in one sentence. She had a feeling she failed.

"As in that you knew no one else from before the sailing?"

"Correct."

"Did you know any other passengers?" asked Senator Smith, clearly meaning to ask if she had met anyone aboard.

"I got to know Rose DeWitt-Bukater, Molly Brown, Thomas Andrews and Caledon Hockley in first class, and Jack Dawson and the Cartmell family in third class. Not very well, but as acquaintances," stated Acacia, to a sudden surge of whispers. It was about her mentioning the steerage passengers, she knew, so she ignored it.

"If you would recall any of the others aboard the ship that you met, I would like you to do so."

"For passengers, not many. Ruth DeWitt-Bukater, Bruce Ismay, Colonel Gracie, the Duff Gordons and Spicer Lovejoy of first class, and Fabrizzio DeRossi and Tommy Ryan of third class," added Acacia, "I only spoke to them a few times that I remember, though."

"Were any of these mentioned people saved?" asked Senator Smith. Obviously he was mainly asking about the first class passengers.

"Ruth DeWitt-Bukater, Caledon Hockley, the Duff Gordons, Colonel Gracie and Molly Brown." Plus Rose, but Acacia wasn't about to out the girl now that she was finally free.

"Do you recall having seen a list of the passengers?"

"No."

"What crew members did you know, Miss Wood?" asked Senator Smith, obviously getting down to business.

In response, Acacia sat up straighter and tilted her chin upward in a show of confidence. That is, confidence that she didn't actually have. "I met aboard the ship, of course, Mr. Harold Bride and Mr. Jack Phillips, the Marconi operators; Sixth Officer James Moody; Fifth Officer Harold Lowe; and First Officer William Murdoch. I met the captain as well," she listed.

"Of those, who was saved?" asked Senator Smith.

"Mr. Bride and Officer Lowe," Acacia choked. A searing feeling left her short on breath when she remembered Jack's fall, and seeing Jim unconscious in the water. She took a heavy breath and blinked a few times to try bringing herself back to normal.

When she looked, Harold nodded encouragingly again. For a second, Acacia closed her eyes and nodded to herself. 'I've already talked about it before,' she pep talked herself, disregarding that she had been in shock then, 'I can do it now.'

"Are you alright, Miss Wood?" asked Senator Smith with concern.

Acacia nodded, clearing her eyes again. "Sorry, just a bit emotional," she said thickly, "Go on. I'm fine."

It took a second for him to decide to do so."Those you did not name were lost?" asked Senator Smith carefully.

"Correct," Acacia agreed.

"Miss, I wish you would tell the committee in your own way, beginning from the time you boarded the ship, the Titanic, at Southampton, the condition of the weather on the voyage; whether or not any accident occurred before the collision where the boat was lost; whether there was any fire aboard the ship between Southampton and the place of the catastrophe; whether you saw any drill of officers or men; and as nearly as you can, in your own way, what took place from the time the Titanic sailed. You may proceed in your own way and take your own time, and you will not be interrupted until you finish," instructed Senator Smith, obviously expecting a big long spiel.

Acacia was almost sorry to not give it to him. "I remember hearing about nearly hitting another ship leaving Southampton, but much more than that I can't tell you about the first day," Acacia said with a grimace, "I was in my cabin the whole day and night, trying to get used to the ship. I've been deathly afraid of watercraft in general for over half my life. There wasn't much rocking though, so I can assume the weather was good. It was very good the whole time, in fact, if a bit cold. I never heard about any fire, so I'm assuming there wasn't one," she didn't want to mention the fire in the coal bunker that she shouldn't have known about, "And I never saw any kind of drill. So far as I know, everything was perfectly normal and calm until the accident." She shrugged helplessly, not knowing if she was to go any further.

"Could you tell me about the events of the voyage, up until you boarded the Carpathia, in your own way?" requested Senator Smith. He added, "Especially including your interactions with the crew. You will not be interrupted."

It was hard not to smile. Not being interrupted through the whole story? That would be a very large task for Senator Smith, considering her story. And so, in excruciating detail, Acacia told everything. Well, everything besides Jim and Victoria's story, a few of her moments with Jack and her deal with Cal (though it was fun to watch him turn the color of old porridge when she hinted).

When she finally wound down, she realized that it felt good to have let go of all her recent emotional baggage. Several ladies (and a few men) in the audience were even sniffling right along with Acacia near the end. Stubbornly, she wiped her eyes with a gloved hand. Why was she suddenly so emotional?

"You said that you had keys to the gates?" asked Senator Smith, jumping on the first question that came to him.

"I wasn't sure if they were at the time, just that they weren't mine or my cousin's," admitted Acacia, "It was the only logical solution."

"Do you know how they got into your possession?" asked Senator Smith sharply. Obviously he was implying that they were stolen.

"No," Acacia answered coldly.

"Why did you send Mr. Phillips down to unlock the gates rather than go down yourself?" asked Senator Smith.

Acacia gave him a look. "Did you not hear the part of my explanation in which I explained that I was terrified of going below D deck when the ship was still safe?" she demanded, voice still cold, "Or when I told you that I am absolutely terrified of seafaring craft sinking? I would have frozen up and been unable to do it, and I knew it." While usually pride was her biggest fault, this was stupidity in her opinion. If there was one thing that for some reason she couldn't handle right now, it was stupidity.

"If you are... terrified... of ships sinking, why did you stay on board the Titanic when you could easily have boarded a boat?" Senator Smith asked coolly.

"They say that courage is not the absence of fear, but the judgement that something is more important than fear. I made a promise to go to the Marconi room and help Harold- Mr. Bride- and I was going to keep that promise even if it killed me," Acacia decided to say. Her actions made very little sense even to her when questioned the way they had been. It was definitely something to speculate on later.

Even as she thought on that, a sharp pang went through her lower stomach. With a tiny, nearly soundless gasp, she pursed her lips. Acacia refused to rub the area or close her eyes, however. This was getting to be a battle of wills that she couldn't afford to lose.

"You said that your father taught you Morse code. How did he know it?" asked Senator Smith after a moment of hard staring at his witness.

"He was a merchant seaman until he retired," Acacia answered honestly.

"Why did he teach you?"

"Because I asked him to."

"And why did you ask him to?"

"Because I was curious."

"Why did you ask Mr. Phillips to teach you how to use the wireless apparatus?" asked Senator Smith, changing directions when he realized he wasn't getting anywhere on that line of questioning.

"It had been a private dream of mine to send out at least one message myself. I figured that if there were ever a good time to do that, it would be on a journey where I'm friends with the operators," Acacia similarly obliged. She shifted in her seat, hoping that nothing would show through the crape when she stood.

"You said that you left the wireless room not quite fifteen minutes before the ship sank?"

"Yes."

"Could you tell us in greater detail what happened between then and getting aboard the Carpathia?"

Acacia wet her lips and took a quick glance at the officers. They all looked expectant and curious aside of Harold and Lightoller- who she rather wanted to apologize to once she remembered that she had quite liked him the one time she met him before the sinking. The solemn look on the Second Officer's face and the understanding one on her friend's loaned her the courage to do so.

"Mr. Bride was pulling me toward where the collapsible boats were tethered when I heard my name called. I stopped for a minute, and gave him the knife out of the holster I was wearing on my leg. He was then lifted up to help untie the boat. I heard my name called again, but this time I recognized it as Mr. Phillips and called back. I saw him then, after he got through a crowd around a priest," Acacia stopped for a second, the memory overwhelming her, "His hat and coat were missing, and his tie was loosened and he was all wet. He kind of crushed me to his chest and then he told me about finding my cousin after a rush of water broke a door. Her body had floated out from behind it. She had probably gotten trapped and lost the keys and been unable to get out. I heard the boat crash onto the deck and people start yelling as water came over the bridge wall. Jack suggested that we got to the stern, and we did. The deck slanted deeper and deeper, and it felt like we were climbing near the end.

"I wrapped an elbow and a leg around the railing and put my lifebelt over his head. He tried putting it on me instead, but I slapped his hands away and told him that it would be the cold that got me, not drowning. I put my coat and scarf on him also. I told him that the Carpathia would be there in a few hours and we promised that wwe would do everything possible to survive and see each other onboard. That was when the Titanic split in half," Acacia said, wrapped up in the memory of cold wind and the groan of metal.

"Split in half, you said?" Senator Smith interrupted.

"Yes. It's the only way the stern could possibly have crashed down horizontally again," Acacia agreed almost dreamily, "And the noise was horrendous. It was even worse than the people all around us screaming. The stern went vertical again, and there was a little shake- I think the rest of the bow detaching- and that was when Jack fell off. I couldn't even hear him land over the screaming and water rushing. The stern sank slowly enough that there wasn't any suction. I didn't even get my hair wet when I stepped off the stern with a baker. It felt..." she trailed off, trying to find words that weren't from a movie script but failing, "It felt like a thousand knives stabbing me all over my body. I could barely think, or move, because it hurt so much. But I managed to get enough strength to swim out of the crowd of people thrashing about. I passed Jim, he was out cold already and clinging to a deck chair. I reached a piece of paneling with a boy- Alfred Rush- clinging to it, and we used it as a raft to keep our heads and shoulders out of the water. To distract ourselves from the cold we talked as we paddled toward the nearest boat we could see. By the time we reached it... Most of the screams had died down. The quiet was more horrifying than the noise. The people on the boat- boat number one- took us aboard. A couple of men gave us their coats and we waited. I fell asleep for a bit, and when I woke up told the others that the Carpathia would be there soon and about my cousin. Then we saw the Carpathia and began rowing and were the second lifeboat to get to it."

There was a moment of silence as the story was digested. "You said that it was boat number one that you got into?" Senator Smith asked finally.

"Yes," Acacia replied absentmindedly. She swore that she could still feel icy water around her feet.

There were then several questions about the officers, captain and other crew- their behavior and fulfillment of duties. It was followed by questions about the lifeboats, which Acacia couldn't help but answer more honesty than she ought to have. After all, how was she supposed to have known that the boat capacities were sixty-five, forty-five and thirty-five for the regular, collapsible and emergency boats? Then there were questions about the technicalities of the sinking that she had noticed (more like studied in depth for over a decade) and icebergs and of course, that thrice damned Bruce Ismay. It was probably a further two hours before she was dismissed.

When she stood, Acacia had to grip the table in front of her for a moment. Everything around her spun and seemed much louder. Thankfully, she was an expert by now at acting like she wasn't extremely dizzy. No one seemed to notice that she was off balance as she made her way down the aisle and slipped out the doors. They were too busy gossiping as Senator Smith asked for Pitman to take the stand.

Somehow, Acacia managed to stumble down a hallway and into a chair. She put her head in her hands and let out a whimper as she felt her body move to follow the motion that her head seemed to be going in. 'Just what the bloody hell is wrong with me?' she asked herself when she could think again.

Queasiness didn't allow much more room for thought except at where the nearest bathroom was. Or, barring that, where the nearest trash can or vase was. Acacia wasn't above poisoning some poor (probably fake) flowers rather than be covered in her own vomit.

A sixth sense (and seemingly heightened hearing) told her that someone had walked up to stand across the hall from her. It took several moments for Acacia's head to stop spinning long enough to look up to see who it was. When she did, she wished she hadn't.

Caledon Hockley was looking at her in the same way that he had looked at Rose. It was like he was amused by a favorite pet. He was handsome as ever as he leaned on the wall, his arms crossed and a peculiar little half smile on his face. "You left rather quickly," he observed needlessly.

If she could speak without something other than sound possibly coming out, Acacia would have made a sarcastic remark. As it was, she settled for giving him the evil eye.

"Have you thought any more about my proposal?" he asked softly.

Acacia shook her head slowly. It wasn't any more worth thinking about now than before.

Though she didn't look up, it was easy to tell that Cal was getting frustrated. It was all in how he began to pace and he let out a huff. "You aren't taking me seriously," he accused.

On the contrary, Acacia was taking him perfectly seriously. Perfectly seriously as in that she was planning to leave for Germany the second the trial was over. Cal, as much as she hated to admit it, wielded too much power in the Unites States and the United Kingdom for her to ever live peacefully there.

It seemed that somehow he got the message, as he sighed and suddenly didn't seem quite so agitated. "I'm not your enemy," he tried, "I made a mistake and I'm trying to atone for it in the best way I can. If you would give me a chance, I can be good to you."

Footsteps echoed shortly before a blessedly familiar voice said coolly, "Whatever mistake you've made, I think your apologies can wait until Miss Wood is feeling more herself."

If she weren't so under the weather, Acacia would have kissed Harry for his amazing timing. Then again, she also would have told Cal off and possibly thrown a vase at him by then. It was a little startling how everyone seemed to be driving her crazy. Not to mention what kind of insane things she was up to doing to those people making her mad.

There was a brief moment of silence. When Acacia looked up, she saw that the two seemed to be sizing each other up. Even as she ducked her head again, Cal murmured, "We'll talk later." It was surely his footsteps that echoed as he walked away.

Another set, Harry's, walked toward her. There was a rustle of fabric, and a smell something like sandalwood as he knelt down in front of her and prized her hands away from her face. "Acacia, what's wrong?" he asked gently.

"I don't even know," Acacia whispered. Then, before she could control it, she broke into tears. They weren't even dainty little sniffles that she could excuse. Instead, loud, wrenching sobs shook her body and made her hiccup until her chest hurt.

Though he obviously wasn't comfortable in the situation, Harry let her rest her head on his shoulder and cry. In her ear he made some hushing noises, and one large hand rubbed her back in a calming motion. "It's all over now with him," he tried assuring her, "It'll get better."

It only made Acacia cry harder. "No it won't," she whined, "Victoria's dead and Jack is dead and you and Harold are going to leave in a few weeks and Hockley is trying to get me to marry him and I don't know what to do because it feels like someone else is in control of my body! I'm always crying and angry and- and- I really want my mama." The last few words were choked out. Pain seared her chest with the longing she felt for her mother.

There was nothing Harry could have said to comfort her. Luckily, he didn't even try. Just like the older brother Acacia never had, he simply let her cry on his shoulder. At least for the moment, she wasn't alone.

It was enough. Embarrassed, Acacia sniffed and withdrew back into the chair. "So much for being a mature adult," she laughed weakly. She hadn't felt so childlike since she was seventeen and suicidal.

"You're certainly managing better than most women would be," Harry told her. In a low tone, he added, "Better than me, I spent the first day on Carpathia that I was awake bawling like a baby and I've had nightmares ever since." That he would let go of his pride like that, just to make her feel better, gave Acacia a little bit of insight as to what his fiance saw in him. Sometimes, even though he was astoundingly blunt and far too tall, he could be one of the sweetest people in the world.

"I'm going home. I've had enough for today," Acacia decided tiredly. She took a piece of paper and a pencil from her handbag and wrote down her address. Handing it to Harry, she said, "If any of you need me or just want to visit, this is my flat. Tell Harold he's welcome to stay with me, if he's not already got somewhere."

Tucking it into his pocket, he nodded. He stood up to his full height and offered a hand to help Acacia up. "Do you need any help getting home?" he asked with concern.

The dizziness had mostly gone during her crying spell, so she waved the offer off. "I'm just tired. Tell everyone goodbye until tomorrow for me," Acacia replied.

Once they got to the entrance of the hotel, they went their separate ways. Harry went back to the courtroom, while Acacia walked back to her flat on autopilot. Not even the reporters managed to bother her much.

Thankful for Eros' thoughtfulness, she managed to get another apple and a glass of water down before she brushed her teeth and collapsed into bed.

The next day, despite being a Saturday, went similarly: get up, eat, bathe, go to the trial, eat lunch with the officers and Harold, more of the trial, go home, eat, brush her teeth and fall asleep the instant she crawled into bed. A rather mild cold managed to catch hold of her, but it went away quickly. The discovery that the range was actually very modern, and two of the big cupboards were a hidden (and filled) refrigerator and freezer, certainly helped.

Sunday was mainly spent with the officers and Harold invading her flat after they got out of an ad hoc church service. After all, the Church of England didn't exactly have a large following in America. They all sat around on the couch and joked around mostly, grateful for the day off. Not to mention Harold's continuing recovery, as the crutches were now mainly for when he lost his balance after so long off his feet.

Acacia managed to somehow fall asleep for an hour or so in the early afternoon. Waking up with her head on Harold's shoulder was little disconcerting. The look on Lightoller's face as he watched was more so.

And it only got worse after just looking at the chicken breasts in the refrigerator made her feel ill. It was quickly decided that tonight would be a vegetarian night. To the men's credit, they didn't complain about the lack of meat with the pasta and vegetables. In fact, it was hailed as rather splendid even as Acacia hid a box that shouldn't have existed in this time period.

It was when saying good night that the shoe dropped. Pitman thanked her for her hospitality, smiled and tipped his hat as he left. Boxhall again spluttered out an apology, this time for accidentally breaking his dinner plate, before walking very quickly after Pitman. Harry simply smile and said that he would see her at the trial tomorrow. Harold, of course, kissed her forehead and wished her a goodnight before limping away.

Only when she counted did Acacia realize that one was left behind. And blast it all, that one was the one that she had been mentally calling a humorless asshole since the sinking. She flushed at the mere memory of the unflattering things that she had thought about Charles Lightoller.

He stood in the hall very near her, examining her for some reason. It made Acacia feel a little naked, like there was nothing she could hide from him. She barely resisted the urge to cover herself with her hands, instead crossing her arms over her chest. "Is there something you need, Mr. Lightoller?" she asked cordially.

The words he said rocked her world: "Does he know you're pregnant?"

It took a moment for Acacia to even be able to speak. "Wh-what?" she stuttered, all brain processes stopped for the moment, "Pregnant? Me? Told who? About what?" Even to her, her questions didn't make any sense. Hopefully they did to Lightoller.

"Harold," he said patiently, "Have you told him yet that you're pregnant?" He gave her an expectant look. The kind that says, "Come on, you should know this by now."

It took nearly a full minute for the few sentences Lightoller had just spoken to permeate her mind. "I'm... pregnant? What makes you think that?" Acacia finally asked dazedly.

Lightoller ticked off the reasons on his fingers. "The dizziness, gagging at the chicken, falling asleep in the middle of a conversation, mood swings, breaking down the second you got off the witness stand, what seemed like having a rather bad cramp up there," he counted, adding, "Not to mention that your memory is shot. All the same symptoms my wife had when she was pregnant with Fred and Rich, except without constantly excusing yourself to the restroom."

Having it all listed out like that, Acacia wondered how she hadn't suspected before. Then it struck like lightning and she couldn't help freezing: her period. It was supposed to be tomorrow. Surely that would shed some light on if she was or not?

Strategically, she blocked that thought. It was too scary to even consider while in 1912. Instead, she sighed, "I'll see a doctor tomorrow, see if there's a test for it. If I'm not, we forget this conversation ever happened. If I am... I'll tell him. The day I get the results back."

Lightoller nodded, apparently satisfied. "Goodnight, Miss Wood," he told her with a nod, before he walked out the door.

Thankfully the former Second Officer closed it behind him, because Acacia slid down the wall to the floor the second she was alone. "Pregnant?" she whispered to herself, staring at her stomach as if the answers would write themselves on her blouse, "Me? A mum?" She looked to the ceiling and stated to whoever was listening, "If I am, someone up there is certifiably insane."

Never more than now did Acacia wish that her cousin was still around. At the thought, she started crying again.

* * *

Eros' and Hades' jaws dropped when they saw the exchange between Lightoller and Acacia. This wasn't in the plan! Either of their plans!

It struck them at the same time exactly who was behind this: Hera. She was the goddess of women, marriage and childbirth after all. Who else could be responsible, since Demeter and Aphrodite had shown no interest in the time traveller's case just yet?

"That woman needs to keep her nose in her own business," growled Hades, scowling at where he last saw his sister-in-law.

"I can't believe I agree with you on something," snarked Eros. He felt almost like crying. It had all been so simple before! Send Acacia and Victoria to 1912, let them fall in love with their destined partners, bring them back. And now thanks to an impatient Hades, tricky Chronos and petty Hera, everything was complicated!

At the thought of Chronos, Eros' expression turned from sulky to horrified. Since the father of the possible child was a man firmly rooted in this time period, would Chronos even be able to send Acacia back?!

* * *

-EOC-

I know, no Jack this chapter. I think it ran long enough though, even without him. Plus... plot twist! And maybe even a cliffhanger! (At this point in time, even I don't know.)

Review! Reviews are love!

-Thrae


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